Is Love What You're Looking For?
by Hailey Ambrose
Summary: AU Fiction. An unexpected pregnancy turns Brianne's life upside down especially considering her fiance is dead set against having kids.Will this baby bring them closer or will the love she's been looking for been with her all along. Wade/OC/Cena & others
1. Chapter 1

Ok, here is the newest story. I hope you like. I know I have alot of stories right now but this one was one I wrote a while ago and now am posting it.

Thanks to RatedrKjErIcHo for your help on this one.

Disclaimer: I do not own the WWE or the wrestlers in this story. I own only my ocs. This story if fiction and is to be taken that way.

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><p>Chapter One: Mysterious Ways<p>

Think about a trauma, like a car crash, sudden and unexpected. People stare, some might even stop to ask what happened but no one can really help. The deed has been done. The car crashed. Nothing will ever be the same. Your perspective has been radically changed. You have been radically changed. And suddenly life is wrought with consequences you never imagined because you never imagined the inciting incident. You ask yourself: Why didn't I ever imagine that I could be in a car crash? Why didn't I ever imagine that I could get pregnant even though I was on the pill?

I was thirty years old the morning I discovered I was pregnant. Going to have a baby. Knocked up. In the family way. The morning I learned I had a bun in the oven. The morning I found out that I was expecting a blessed event, in other words, the end of my life as I knew it.

My name is Brianne Trufan and this is my story. At least, the part of my story during which everything just exploded. Back to that auspicious morning. My first thought after dropping the pink plastic stick into the white porcelain sink was: Oh my God, this can't be happening.

My second thought, after retrieving the stick to give it one more hard look, was: Of course this can be happening. I had sex. I missed my period. So of course I'm pregnant. This is what happens.

My third thought, after tossing the offending stick into the brushed-aluminum trashcan was: What will Wade say!

Wade Barrett was my fiancé. From the day I met him he'd declared pretty strongly that he did not want children. And when we got engaged, Wade reminded me that a family of two—Wade and me—was all the family he wanted. And I'd gone along with that.

Except for maybe a dog, I'd suggested. A small dog, one with short hair so the shedding problem would be minimal. Wade had agreed. Maybe a dog. A small, nondestructive dog. The kind you can train to pee on newspaper.

Well, I thought that awful morning in April, a baby most certainly isn't a dog, and although it is small, it most certainly is destructive. It spits up on your best silk blouse; siphons your bank account in an alarming way; and puts a firm, wailing, pooping end to your sex life. The thing that had gotten you into trouble in the first place. Sex with a man.

I remember thinking that I should call Wade right away. I assumed he hadn't left the condo for his office yet; Wade is never his best in the morning. I belted my robe more tightly around my middle and hurried from the bathroom. With a practiced motion I snatched my cell phone from the kitchen counter where it had been recharging for the past eight hours. The number was loaded; I hit the proper button. A woman's voice answered on the first ring.

"Elise," I said. "I need to talk to you."

Please Reivew. A very short beginning I know. But more to come.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

I checked my watch for the third time and wondered why I was bothering. Elise was always twelve minutes late. Never eleven or thirteen, always exactly twelve minutes late. Elise claimed this was just a bizarre coincidence and she teased me for even noting it.

"I'd say you're the one with the problem, honey, not me. Sure that watch isn't bolted to your wrist?"

Well it was no secret that I'm a bit anal. That would be Elise's term. I call myself disciplined. Orderly. Focused. I'm certainly not obsessive in any way. I do not suffer from OCD. Anyway, I don't know how I made it through the day without spilling my dread secret. I swear I came close to grabbing the server behind the counter at Bon Marche, where I stopped for a cup of coffee, decaf of course, and shouting the news in his face.

Being a highly disciplined person, I refrained from attacking the poor server and even avoided telling Wade when he called at eleven to see if I could have lunch with him. I begged off, claiming a disgruntled client, and though I hated to lie to the man I was to marry in a few months, at the time it seemed the right thing to do. How coud I not have seen the signs? How could I have been so blind to the truth?

"Another soda water?"

I forced a smile for the too-pretty male bartender. Bartenders used to look like normal people but now too many look like models. I have a hard time sharing news of my pedestrian life with a person too pretty to have a care that can't be alleviated by batting an eyelash.

"Thanks, no." I said. "Not yet. I'll wait for my—"

"Brianne! What on Earth is the matter?"

I swiveled on the barstool to see my friend striding toward me. Elise can't help but stride; her legs are quite long. "Nothing's the matter." I whispered as Elise slipped onto the barstool next to mine. "I mean, everything is the matter. But we don't have to announce it to the world."

"Honey." She replied. "Look around. The collective ego in here, apart from yours and mine, of course, is so overinflated it could sail us to Portugal. Relax. No one cares about you."

Elise had chosen the bar at Bodacious. It isn't one of my favorites places—the clientele is tragically hip—but Elise loves it. She enjoys, as she put it, "mocking the ignorant."

I couldn't help but smile. "Well, that's comforting. I guess. Look, go ahead and order. I've waited all day to talk to you, I can wait another few minutes."

"If you say so." Elise hailed the bartender; he came dashing over and gave her a gorgeously flirtatious smile. She returned it mockingly; as she knew he would, the bartender clearly misinterpreted and began to fawn.

Elise is my closest friend although I've known her for only about four years. She's one of those people who seem completely comfortable with herself. It's as if she looked in the mirror one day long ago and said, "Okay. I got it.' And from that point on, she's been unapologetically and wholeheartedly Elise Ryan Barnhardt.

The Ryan came from her father. Disappointed to learn his firstborn child was a girl, he insisted on staking at least some claim by branding her with the name of his favorite uncle, long since deceased. Good thing too as Elise turned out to be his only child and therefore, his last chance at immortality. It's Elise's opinion that her declaration of remaining forever child-free—that is, that there would be no grandchildren forthcoming—led to the masssive heart attack that killed Mr. Barnhardt on the spot.

"Literally." She told me not long after we met. "I was on the phone with him and the second the words were out of my mouth I heard this terrific thud and then my mother was screaming, and the next thing I knew I was on a plane for Cincinnati. It was very nice funeral by the way. My aunts put together a very respectable party afterward. I always thought they should have opened a catering business."

Elise Ryan Barnhardt—she uses her full name professionally—is an interior designer. Her business—Elise Ryan Barnhardt, Inc.—is primarily focused on private homes, although on a rare occasion she accepts a corporate gig. And once in a while, for a certain large budget, high-profile events I'm coordinating, I invite Elise to team up with Brianne's Occasions. We do it partly for the big money and partly for the fun of working together. Clients want satifaction, and that's what they get from us. Satisfaction and an inevitable photo in the Boston Globe, once, we even got a mention in a popular home-decorating magazine. Not bad for two girls from families who reared us with all the attention usually reserved for an afterthought.

The bartender was still fawning over my friend. I rolled my eyes to the painted tin ceiling. It was almost always the same. Nine out of ten times, men greedily zeroed in on Elise and ignored every other woman in the room, even those at least as attractive. Like me. Although since I'd become engaged to Ted, being ignored didn't bother me. Much.

Elise isn't a conventional beauty but I think she's the most attractive woman I've ever met. Cleary, I'm not alone in that assessment. Her face is challenging, planes and angles. Her skin is super pale, very evenly white. Her eyes are very deep blue, almost the famous violet fo Elizabeth Taylor's eyes. She wears her thick, super dark brown hair slicked into a chignon.

Unlike me, a self-proclaimed jewelry addict, Elise owns only a few pieces and wears each piece consistenly. On her left wrist she wears an antique watch she bought at an auction somewhere in France. Diamond studs sparkle fantastically on her earlobes and on the fourth finger of her right hand she wears a slim silver band with the inscription "vous et nul autre." An early version of the French meaning. "you and no other." I often wondered who gave the ring to Elise; it isn't the sort of thing a person buys for herself. But something kept me from asking.I watched as the bartender slid the largest martini I've ever seen across the bar to Elise, all the while not so subtly trying to peer down her crisp-collared blouse.

"So?" She said now, fixing me with her violet, appraising gaze.

I took a deep breath. It was the first time I'd speak the words to anyone other than my reflection in the bathroom mirror. "I'm pregnant. I bought a pregnancy kit and it says I'm pregnant."

Elise camly took a sip of her massive martini, set the glass down and looked at me.

"Who's the father?" She said.

"My God, Elise." I cried. "Wade is the father!"

Elise nodded. "Good. Just checking. I don't like to make assumption. No one is perfect, my dear."

"I wouldn't cheat on my fiance." I said finally. "I'm not a cheater."

Elise sighed. "Honey, I know you're not a cheater. By nature you're a good, moral person. You're ethical, upstanding, all of that. You're a downright Girl Scout. But sometimes passion takes a person by surprise."

"Not me." I insisted and then I wondered if that was something to brag about. Never having been swept away by overwhelming feelings. Never having committed a crime, not even a misstep of passion.

"I don't understand why you're so surprised." Elise said, matter of factly. "I mean, you bought the pregnancy kit, right?"

"Well, yes."

"So you must have had an inkling that something was wrong."

"But I've never been pregnant before. I've always been so careful. How could this have happened? I'm almost thirty-one years old, I've been taking the pill for years and every gynecologist I've ever been to has told me I'm a perfect candidate for intensive drug therapies and artificial insemination and all that other awful stuff. God."

"They say He works in mysterious ways."

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	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three:

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning that maybe He wants you to be a mommy. I don't know. Your hands and feet are going to swell, you know. You probably won't be able to wear your engagement ring."

I shot a glance at the three-carat emerald-cut diamond on my left hand. Not be able to wear that gorgeous piece of jewelry? It was unthinkable.

"Who says I'm still going to be engaged once Wade finds out that I'm pregnant." I said plaintively.

Elise opened her mouth and closed it again almost immediately. She frowned. She folded her arms across her chest. She unfolded them and leaned forward.

"Oh come on." She said. "You don't really think…."

"See? Even you think he's going to be mad and walk out on me."

"Or suggest that you have an abortion."

I didn't know what to say. I'd been avoiding using the a word even to myself. It isn't that I'm against the idea of abortion. I've always been staunchly pro-choice.

"How can I get an abortion?" I said, lowering my voice. "I'm financially stable, I'm certainly old enough to be a parent, and I'm engaged. At least for the moment. What's my excuse for not going through with the pregnancy?"

"You don't want children?"

"There is that." I admitted.

Elise took another delicate sip of her martini and swallowed. "Perfection. And by the way, if Wade has the nerve to be mad at you for something he helped make happen, kick him. Hard in the ass."

"I don't think he'll be mad." I protested. "Wade is rarely ever mad. He's rarely ever anything but—"

"But what?" Elise smirked. "Bland?"

"No. I was going to say he's rarely ever anything but pleasant. And let me tell you, a pleasant disposition is a good quality in someone you're going to spend the rest of your life with."

Elise shrugged. "If you say so. Look, why do you even have to tell Wade right away? Why not take some time and think things through."

"Elise." I said with great patience. "Human gestation is only thirty-six weeks or so. With maybe three down I don't have much time to hide the fact that I'm pregnant. Anyway, I have to tell Wade right away. He is the father."

"So?"

"What do you mean so? He's my fiancé. We're getting married. Husbands and wives are supposed to be honest with each other about everything."

And yet, when Wade had called earlier that day I'd chosen not to tell him he was about to be a father. "Besides, he'll figure it out on his own soon enough."

"Men can be dense." Elise pointed out.

"Not that dense. Anyway, Wade is very body conscious."

"He keeps track of your eating habits?" She demanded.

"No but he notices a change in my weight." I shrugged as if Wade's uncanny attention to weight gain didn't bother me, but it did. "It's just the way he is."

"Neurotic." Elise suggested. "Controlling."

"He cares about appearances. So do I. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Assuming you're not contractually obligated to undergo liposuction every five years."

"I'm not saying Wade would leave me if I gained a few pounds. He's not horrid. Would I be engaged to him if he were?"

"I don't know. Would you?"

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"It means that there's nothing wrong with marrying for reasons other than romantic love. Women have done it since the dawn of time. Well, you know what I mean. Since it was prudent for them to insure their future by marrying up."

"I should be furious with you." I said. "For suggesting I'm marrying Wade for his money and his looks and his social connections. I really should. But for some reason I'm not."

"Because you understand that marriage is a legal contract at bottom. And within the bounds of that legal contract every couple has another contract, a private contract, their own rules. For example, I support you financially and you keep your mouth shut about my mistresses. That's a popular one."

"I'm not that one."

"How about this? I call this the Arm Candy Deal. You do everything within your power to keep your looks and I'll take you to Europe every summer and buy you diamonds from Tiffany for every little occasion."

"Where did you get such a jaundiced view of marriage?

"I keep my eyes wide open. The sanctity of marriage exsists only in a storybook, if there."

I sighed. "You'll never get married with that attitude."

"Have I ever said I wanted to?" She snapped. "Really, Brianne, it's dangerous to assume everyone wants the same happy ending. It makes one a very boring person."

"One?" I smiled ruefully. "Don't you mean is makes me a very boring person?"

"Now, I didn't say that."

But she'd implied it. And I really couldn't argue. Sometimes I did worry that I was becoming more of a bore with every passing year.

"Did I mention that I'm happy for you?"

I looked closely at Elise. I was suspicious. "Are you trying to make up for the boring remark?"

"No."

'You don't even like children."

"I like you and I'm happy for you." She said. "Assuming of course that you're happy for you and clearly your jury is still out. So maybe I should say that if you decide to be happy about this pregnancy, I'll be happy for you."

I sighed. "Will you be nice to my baby?"

"Of course I'll be nice to it. The kid. Although to be honest it would be easier if the kid turns out be intelligent. I'm not very good with dumb people."

"Mentally challenged. Differently abled people."

"That's what I said. Dumb."

"You're incorrigible." I said.

"And you're the only one I know who uses that word. Outside of a romance novel, I mean."

"You read romance novels? I find that hard to believe."

"I might not have great faith in marriage, but I'm not immune to chocolate hearts, chilled champagne, and violins singing in the background."

"You left out the most important element of romance."

"I mentioned the champagne."

"The man, silly. What about the man? And by the way, who are you dating at the moment? You've been oddly silent about your own life."

"That's because you've been oddly talkative about yours."

"I'm sorry."

"Really, its okay, honey. What you've got going on is big news. Me? I'm just passing the time with some tax attorney."

"Don't you ever get tired of Mr. Right Now?" I asked.

I'm not a prude; I didn't care how many men Elise slept with as long as she played it safe. It's just that I was concerned my friend might miss a window of opportunity and never find someone nice with whom to settle.

"Ah, but that's the beauty of Mr. Right Now. He's always changing and change is always exciting."

Let me be honest. I've never been a huge fan of change. Generally speaking, I crave stability. It takes people like Elise to force me beyond the comfort zones I so readily establish.

"I don't like change for its own sake. I think that's why I've never had a roving eye. Monogamy seems very natural to me."

"I'm not abusing loyalty to the familiar." Elise pointed out. "Necessarily. In fact, honey, I'm not even preaching here. I'm just telling you that I'm just fine not settling down. At least for now. Who knows what will happen in the future? The future, my dear friend, is deliciously uncertain."

"Of course the future's uncertain." I said. "Everybody knows that. It's just that suddenly it seems more uncertain than it ever has. Like, I don't know, like a big raggedy question mark ready to explode at the slightest inquisitive poke."

"Hmm. The future as pendulant piñata. Very interesting, if a bit of a stretch. But seriously, Brianne, with a baby you're going to have to learn to deal with change. You're going to have to learn to expect the unexpected. You're not going to be in control of your life. Not for a while, anyway. So say goodbye to your current routines and habits, honey. Life is about to get weird."

"Thank you for being so gentle with the truth."

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	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four:

Let me tell you about Wade Barrett. He's the dream catch of every single woman. At least, of every urban-based, professional, well-dressed, single woman, and there are an awful lot of them about town.

He was thirty and very wealthy. His eyes were emerald green and his hair was thick and dark and wavy; he has it expensively and expertly cut every three weeks at a salon on Newbury Street by a petite, stylish woman he considers his grooming guru. I was jealous of the grooming guru until I learned that her husband is even wealthier than Wade. My fears were immediately put to rest. Wade is in perfect physical shape. Some of that perfection is due to good genetic stuff; the rest is due to regular trip to the gym and a diet low in both fat and carbs. Wade appreciates good looks in others too. I wasn't at all surprised to find that every one of his male friends is as well groomed as Wade.

Oddly, in those early days, Wade didn't care quite as much about my appearance as he did about his own. Sometimes I wondered if he saw me all that clearly, in detail, or if he was satisfied that I presented an overall attractive appearance. Wade might notice a change in my weight but he often failed to notice things like a new blouse or highlights in my hair.

No one can argue with the fact that: Wade is self focused. He's not selfish, exactly. I think of selfish people as mean spirited and Wade is nothing if not generally pleasant. Anyway, there's no doubt that one of the reasons Wade was drawn to me was because of my physical attributes and my personal style. And he liked the fact that I have my own small but successful event planning business. He liked the fact that I'm on a first name basis with just about everyone who is anybody in Boston, even if most of those people are not my friends but my employers.

Wade is drawn to glamour like a moth is drawn to a flame. Actually, that's not quite right. At first I wondered about the fatality of his attraction, but after a few weeks together I realized that while Wade might like certain accoutrements of glamour, like his XJ8 Jaguar, he's not interested in glamour's dangerous aspects, like drugs and high stakes gambling and driving that outrageously expensive Jaguar over the speed limit. A healthy degree of caution is a good quality in a husband.

Overall, Wade is a nice guy—the right guy for a lot for women. But was he the right guy for me?

Here's what I told myself about two months into the relationship: Every man has his faults and flaws. What does it matter if Wade rarely reads a book and grumbles every time his accountant suggests he make a substantial charitable donation to one of the city's homeless shelters? He dotes on me to the best of his ability, and he's generally fun to be with.

I had no complaints. At least, none of the magnitude I'd had with former boyfriends. Wade isn't a cheater and I knew this because before getting too involved with him I'd asked around. He isn't a drunk. He isn't a mama's boy. Well, he isn't too much of a mama's boy. He isn't homophobic or racist or ultra right-wing conservative. He went to college and graduated right in the middle of his class. More, he swears he never belched the national anthem, something a surprisingly small number of male college graduates can say. He doesn't chew tobacco.

Most people like Wade Barrett on sight. He's not intrusive. He's friendly and remembers names, knows how to act at parties. He compliments women without being disrespectful. Men find him unthreatening; they want to hang out with him, have a drink with him, cheer along with him at a ball game. Most men, that is. There is one man I know who never succumbed to Wade Barrett's charms. But more on him later.

I met Wade at a party. We were drawn to each other right away and left the party early for more private conversation at one of the last surviving cigar bars in town, quiet even on a Saturday night. Neither of us smokes: Wade told me he was thinking of buying a leather chair similar to the one this bar featured and was curious to know my opinion of the chair. We were engaged after about nine months.

Before I never would have dreamed of getting engaged to a man I'd known for less than a year. But when Wade popped the question—along with the cork on a bottle of very expensive champagne—I told myself I was old enough to know what I wanted. Why wait? What was the benefit of passing up a real, in-the-hand option for a phantom opportunity? I asked myself, what if no one else eligible ever comes along? Where will I be then?

So I said yes to Wade's proposal of marriage. I put that three carat emerald-cut diamond ring on my finger—rather, I let him slide it on for me—and I set my face in the direction of a bright and shiny future as Mrs. Brianne Trufan-Barrett.

A bright and shiny future that was not supposed to include a baby.

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	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five:

I got home that evening at seven. There was a message on voice mail from Wade, saying that he was sorry he'd missed me. "Knowing you. You're working late, again. Well, I suppose that's what makes Brianne's Occasions the success it is. I'll try you on your cell."

I pulled my cell phone from my purse; I'd turned it off just before meeting Elise. There were no messages, but there was one other message on voice mail. It was from Mrs. Barbara King's personal assistant; in a somewhat pained voice, informed me that Mrs. King had chosen my "little company" to put together a small party at Mrs. King's home for the surviving members of her high school drama club.

I should have been thrilled. Mrs. King is well known, well connected, and well heeled. Landing the job was quite a professional coup. But my excitement was tempered by the disconcerting fact that I was unexpectedly pregnant just six months before my wedding to a man who didn't want children.

Rarely has anything gotten in the way of the enjoyment I derive from work. Elise calls me a workaholic, but I don't like that term. Besides, I cherish downtime; I know how to relax. It's just work is for me what tennis is for a professional tennis player. It's what I do; it's who I am.

My first job was at local branch of the public library. From there I was an office assistant, receptionist, and check out girl; for a few summers I was a waitress, then hostess. My parents were thrilled at my industriousness. They stopped giving me an allowance when I turned fifteen; any spending money from that time on and through college, I earned.

After college I took a job with a mid-sized event-planning company where I worked hard and learned the ropes. And after five years, I left the company to start Brianne's Occasions. When I think back to those first arduous months of planning and financing, I can hardly believe I had the nerve to take such a risk, albeit a calculated one. Walking away from the safety net of a steady paycheck and a corporate-sponsored insurance plan took a lot of courage.

In the early days of Brianne's Occasions, I worked from home to keep overhead low. But before long I found that it was virtually impossible to maintain any sense of private life when my office was down the hall from my bedroom. So, I rented office space in a small commercial building on Tremont Street. The rent was high but in the end my sanity was worth it.

Still anyone who runs her own business will tell you that her business is her life, her life is her business. It has to be that way if the business is to survive; the business never would have been born if she hadn't been super-dedicated in the first place.

Remember: It's Brianne for Every Occasion.

I know. But one line hooks like this work, sometimes too well. It's hard to manage a long weekend, let alone a real vacation, when your business is thriving. But over time I learned how to better structure and most important, how to say no. A girl needs her downtime. I don't need any worry lines and crow's feet before I'm forty.

One more point: From the start of solo career I declined to venture into the wedding-planning business. Twice I was made enticing offers: the first, by a bride-to-be whose imagination was as blank as her budget was limitless and a year after that by bride-to-be who had always dreamed of a Moulin Rouge-style wedding; but I stuck to my original plan and gave the hopeful brides a referral instead of my signature on a contract.

Here's why: Familiarity breeds contempt. I didn't want to become so jaded by the arduous process of arranging weddings that by the time my own wedding came along I opted for a quick civil ceremony at the courthouse, no big dress, no lavish reception and no champagne toasts. I wanted my own wedding to be special, unsullied by an insider's view of the industry.

The decision paid off. Now it was time for my wedding and I was happy and excited. And things were going swimmingly. The vendors to whom I gave lots of business were coming through for me without a hitch. The florist, the caterer, the agency that booked bands (no DJ; Wade and I were in agreement on that). One of my regular clients recommended a makeup artist and a hairstylist she hired for all the charity galas she attended in Boston and New York.

Brianne's big wedding. The wedding that might not be happening. Because once I told Wade I was pregnant…..Well, I told myself with false cheer, look on the positive side, Brianne

I looked to the fireplace and several framed photographs were displayed. I reached for the one of Wade and me on the beach in Puerto Rico earlier that year. One of the resort's employees had taken it for us, after he'd delivered two tall, frosty glasses of rum punch. With no false modesty I noted that Wade and I looked good together, both of us trim, healthy, and stylish. I didn't want to lose Wade. I didn't want to lose future opportunities to laze in the sun on foreign beaches with my handsome, well-behaved fiancé.

With a shaky hand I replaced the framed photo, and in spite of Elise's suggestion that I put it off, I decided to tell Wade about the pregnancy that very night. Why prolong the agony of not knowing how Wade would respond to my big news? Why put off the agony of being abandoned?

Because I just knew that Wade would dump me like the proverbial hot potato. Wade isn't an irrational hothead. He'd say that we had a deal and that I'd broken it. I'd argue that it had taken two to break the deal and besides, I-we- hadn't broken it on purpose. But my argument would fall on deaf ears. I picked up my purse and headed out again. I got into a cab and headed to Wade's.

Wade wasn't home when I arrived. While I waited for him I surveyed the two-thousand square foot space and yearned in vain for the worries of the day before, the worries that only twenty-four hours before I'd found so monumental.

The contractor was two months behind schedule. The tile supplier had sent the wrong tile for the bathroom floor. The Ralph Lauren paint technique we'd chosen for the front hall was a disaster, impossible to achieve. Someone or something had dinged the hood of Wade's Jaguar, which required that it be in the shop for several days.

Such were the tragedies Wade and I faced as two well-paid thirty year olds with little or no responsibility to anyone but ourselves. I wonder if we knew just how good we had it. Wade arrived at about eight-thirty. I greeted him with the traditional kiss on the cheek

"Wade." I said as he began to unpack a bag marked New Wine and Spirits. "I have something to tell you."

"Okay. Hey, do you want a glass of wine? I found a fabulous bottle of Australian Shiraz this afternoon."

"Um, no thanks. Let's sit down okay."

I perched on the edge of the couch. Wade followed with a glass of the Shiraz and settled comfortably next to me. He sighed, smiled pleasantly.

"It's nice to come home to you after a long day at the office." He said. "It's very relaxing."

"I'm pregnant." I said bluntly. The expression on his face was impossible to read. He turned from me. "Wade."

I gently touched his shoulder but he continued to stare straight ahead. "Wade?" I repeated, ready for the worst. Then he completely surprised me.

Wade leapt from the couch, lifted me up after him and hugged me like he'd never hugged me before. "This is the most amazing thing that's ever happened to me! Brianne, I can't believe this!"

Wade let go of me—thankfully, as I was beginning to gasp for air—and held my hands up to his chest. "This is unbelievable." He said, eyes glistening with tears. It was the first and last time I saw Wade cry. "Just wait until my mother finds out she's going to a grandmother! She's been dreaming of this day ever since I graduated from college and got a job. Ever since I established myself. Ever since Rob broke his engagement to that horribly boring woman from Florida and she thought she'd never have a grandchild. Anyway, she's going to be thrilled."

I resisted pointing out that Rob's horribly boring fiancée had been a brilliant chemical engineer. Instead I focused on the positive. Two people were thrilled about my pregnancy, Wade and his mother. It was a start.

"So, you're not upset?" I asked, daring to believe Wade's joy. "I mean, we talked about children and well, we said we didn't want to have any."

"Am I upset? Brianne, I'm kind of in shock, but it's going to be great. I can't believe this! How did it happen anyway? Did you forget to take the pill?"

"NO!" I cried.

Here it comes, I thought. His seemingly enthusiastic reaction is just a cover for this fury. Maybe he's having a fit of some sort. Maybe this unbridled joy is a kind of psychological breakdown.

"No." I went on, my voice calm. "I'm very careful about taking the pill. I guess I'm just that one-in-a-million woman…"

Wade grinned. There was still no sign of fury. "Or maybe." He said, putting his hands around my waist and pulling me in. "Maybe I'm just that one-in-a-million man who's so virile your girls don't stand a chance against my boys."

I smiled. There it was the ego. Wade was just a man like every other man. Cleaner, maybe; neater; and more stylish than the majority of men, but a man all the same. "You'd like to think that, wouldn't you," I said teasingly.

Wade kissed me. "I've got the proof."

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	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six:

Decaffeinated tea isn't so bad, I lied to myself heartily. And in only eight months or so you'll be able to have a normal cup of tea or coffee. It was no use. The absence of caffeine in my diet was taking a toll in the form of a nasty, dull headache. I dumped the cup of so-called tea into the sink and reached for my address book. I opened it to the section marked D and found the number I was looking for.

I met my friend, Carrie DiBiase when we were sophomores in college, back when her name was Carrie Rivers. We were both enrolled in a course on the great mistresses of European history. The class's raging debates inspired us in more ways than one. For Halloween that year I dressed as Madame du Pompadour and Carrie dressed as Nell Gwyn. We were the hit of every party and fast friends from that night fourth.

Still, in the second half of our twenties, our lives took very different paths. The last thing on my mind was marriage. But for Carrie, it suddenly was the first. When she was twenty-five she met and fell in love with a guy named Ted DiBiase, an Arlington local who'd gone to only one semester of college before realizing he could make a pretty decent living working for his uncle's mid-sized construction company.

Ted is friendly and hardworking, an all-around stand-up guy. There's nothing odd about him except for his being so very different from all the others guys Carrie had ever dated—highly educated professional men who wore dark suits to work, drove Mercedes, and took ten-day vacations to Cancun every February. Men you were supposed to date when you came from a home in which both were professionals when you had gone to Harvard Law, when you were well on your way up to partnership in a small but prestigious law firm. Men like, well, men like Wade.

"But what do you guys talk about?" I'd asked Carrie when she and Ted had been together for about six months.

"Plenty of stuff." She replied easily.

"Like what?"

"Like camping. We both love to camp. I bet you didn't know that about me."

"No." I admitted.

"And we both love Dave Matthews. Do you know that between the two of us we've been to nine concerts? And we talk about the family we're going to have some day."

Carrie had made up her mind. Her decision to marry Ted came as a shock to me and our other friends from college. An even bigger shock was Carrie's decision after the birth of her first son, Mason, to quit her promising position at the small law firm to be a stay-at-home mom.

Five years into their marriage, Ted is owner of his retired uncle's construction firm and Carrie the mother of three children ranging in age from four to two months. They live in a big, yellow, Victorian-style house in Wakefield, a house they bought as a fixer-upper and will probably still be restoring on their twentieth wedding anniversary. Its obvious Carrie and Ted have little money to spend on luxuries like European vacation and jewelry and fancy cars. Each year they rented a cottage on the Cape and take along a grandmother or two; Carrie wears a simple gold wedding band without diamonds. Ted drives a Dodge Ram pickup. Carrie chauffeurs the kids in a Jeep Grand Cherokee. And from what I can tell, they're really happy. Things could be far worse for the woman who saw her future in an unexpected place and had the courage to reach for it.

Anyway, after her wedding I continued to keep up with Carrie, but until recently our very different lifestyles precluded the possibility of spending a whole lot of time together. We exchanged cards at the holidays and emails every few weeks, and whenever Carrie could sneak away we'd meet for lunch, an event that Carrie says is "better than a day at spa." I think Carrie has forgotten just how good a day at a spa can be; she hasn't' been to one since the day before her wedding five years earlier. (Note to self: For Carrie's next birthday, a gift certificate to Belle Sante on Newbury Street.)

Anyway, about two months after I met Wade I felt ready to introduce him to Carrie. I was a little apprehensive; I knew Wade might be a difficult sell to someone as down-to-earth as my college friend. Carrie came into Boston for the occasion; Ted was supposed to join us but an emergency on one of his jobs prevented him from coming. Carrie hired a babysitter at a last minute bonus rate rather than cancel a meeting she knew was important to me.

Well, the meeting didn't go very well. No one threw a drink in anyone's face but the conversation was forced and awkward. Carrie hadn't seen any of the gallery exhibits or movies Wade and I had and we didn't have first-tooth or first-day-of-school stories to share like Carrie did. Just before we left the restaurant to walk Carrie to the train station, Wade excused himself to say hello to a business associate he'd spotted at the bar.

"Well." I asked. "What do you think?"

"He seems nice." Carrie said quickly, avoiding my eye. "His suit is very beautiful."

I smiled half-heartedly. I certainly couldn't tell Carrie that Wade's suit had been purchased at Louis' of Boston for not much less than it had cost her and Ted to buy their house. After that I knew there was no way the two couples were ever going to become close friends. I just couldn't picture Wade hanging out with Ted on a Sunday afternoon drinking beer, eating sandwiches from Subway, and watching football.

Anyway, Carrie might not be a big fan of Wade but she is a big fan of motherhood. I called her one afternoon around two o'clock when I knew she'd be home between taking the kids here and there.

"Brianne, I'm so happy for you!" She cried when I told her the big news. "You're going to make a great mom."

I laughed nervously. "I don't know about that. I'm an absolute wreck about the whole thing."

"Well of course you're a wreck. Every mother-to-be is nervous, that's natural. It doesn't mean you're not going to be just wonderful!"

"Do you really think so?" I asked. I needed to hear Carrie's warm support. I needed to believe it.

"I know so. Oh, Brianne, really, this is just great. And anything I can pass on, I will. Of course, some of T.J.'s clothes have already been through Mason and Gracie so they're not much good at this point. But maybe you'll want everything brand new! Have you registered yet?"

I was suddenly overwhelmed by the practical realities of being a mommy-in-waiting. Mommies were responsible. Mommies were reliable. Mommies were dependable. Okay, no one would deny that Brianne Trufan was responsible, reliable, and dependable. But at the Mommy level?

"Oh Carrie." I said. "I haven't done anything yet. I mean, besides tell you and Elise."

"And your family?"

I sighed. "Actually, I haven't told the families yet. I kind of want to wait, just to make sure everything's okay with the—with the baby.

How strange those words sounded! The baby. My baby.

"There are two ways of thinking about this, Brianne." Carrie replied promptly. "One is to keep the pregnancy a secret until the initial danger period is over. That way if you lose the baby you don't' have to make all those sad phone calls and listen to everyone's disappointment. Okay?"

"That's what I was thinking." I admitted.

"But there's another way. You can tell everyone, share your happiness and then, God forbid, if the pregnancy fails, you have all those people to support you and pray for you. Right?"

"Right." I said, not because I was sure Carrie was right but because I was touched by her happiness for me.

We chatted for a few minutes more and then Carrie had to run off. I asked her to give my love to Ted. It was only after I'd hung up that I realized she hadn't once mentioned Wade's name.

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	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven:

"So, can you meet for lunch someday soon?" I asked "Just something quick."

I imagined Jamie flipping through her date book, highlighter in had; she's super-organized, even more than I am. "Sure. How about tomorrow at eleven-forty five. I've got a client at 1:00 so that should give us plenty of time to chat about wedding plans."

Or about another big event, I thought as I hung up the phone. I met Jamie at a book group. I tried to be part of five or six years ago. Jamie was trying, too, but we both dropped out after only two meetings when the hostess handed out a quiz she'd devised. Reading groups are supposed to be about lightly intelligent conversation, fancy appetizers, and good wine. They're not supposed to be about tests and reports.

Jamie, the daugther of an Irish-American father and a Italian-American mother, is a physical therapist associated with the department of orthopedic surgery at Beth Israel Hospital. She's twenty-four and in fabulous shape, which is only partly due to genetics. She works out and eats right and basically makes me feel like a fat slob when I'm with her. I'm not a fat slob, I know that, but it's hard not to have a doubt when you're with a person who wears a size two. I can't help experiencing a tingle of guilty pleasure when I show up for an event in a more stylish outfit than my petite friend. It's horrible of me, I know.

A few years ago, Jamie married a very nice, very smart man seven years older than her. His name is Randy Orton and he's an engineer with a large construction firm. Randy became her patient after he injuried his knee while playing a Saturday afternoon game of touch football along the promenade.

Jamie and Randy live in a small condo in Bay Village, a tiny six block enclave of eighteenth-century houses beween the South End and the Black Bay. Together, they have no children. But Randy has a daughter from a former marriage which makes Jamie a stepmother.

To that point in time we hadn't talked much about Jamie's domestic situation. Sometimes I wanted to ask her how she felt about not having children of her own and about her relationship with her stepdaughter but I never did. I guess I never sensed a true conversational opening. I wish I had just made the opening myself.

The next morning I met Jamie at Green, a small, casual café that specializes in power drinks, salads, and other healthy fare. As soon as we'd settled at a table for two with our trays, I broke the news.

"I'm pregnant." I said.

Jamie's face tightened just a bit. "If it's what you want. I'm very happy for both of you."

You could at least pretend to be enthusiastic, I chided silently and then I felt silly for being upset. What did I want, a parade? Maybe Jamie was just tired. Or maybe she wasn't feeling well. Really, I thought, is Jamie ever wildly enthusiastic about anything? In some ways, she's the opposite of Elise, low key, pensive, certainly more reserved. Really, I thought, I can't expect everyone to be all excited about my news when I'm not even sure how I feel about it.

"Thanks." I said brightly. "And don't worry about the wedding. This won't change anything for you as maid-of-honr. Everything's going to happen as planned." I don't know why I said that. I knew, deep down, that nohting would ever again happen as planned.

"Okay. SO, is this what you want? To have a baby?" Now Jamie's face was flushed. Clearly she was upset but for the life of me I couldn't understand why. Was she that worried about my happiness?

I reached across the table and patted her arm. "Of course it is. I know I said that Wade and I weren't going to have a family but, well, you know. Things have changed." I wondered. Why have things changed? Because we wanted them to? No. Things changed because they just did and here we are, stuck with the change.

"Then I'm glad for you, Brianne, really." Jamie raised her glass of Evian in a silent toast and I raised mine in return.

"I'm glad for me too." I said. I was only partly lying.

"So, when is the baby due?"

I considered. "By my nonprofessional calculations early Decemeber. Which means that I'll be approximately six months pregnant when I walk down the aisle."

Finally, Jamie smiled. "Don't worry. I'll be there to help you waddle along.

"Oh, no, will I really be waddling by then?"

"I don't know." She said. "I've never had a baby. I don't really know much about anything."

Something in the tone of Jamie's voice prompted me to change the subject. "So, let me tell you about working for the infamous Barbara King."

Boston's South end is an eclectic neighborhood, combining a large and fairly affluent gay community, a long-term and less affluent Hispanic community and then people like me and Wade. We're the upwardly mobile types, the one who frequent the finer restaurant with regularity, the ones who abandon their expensive urban lifestyle for an expensive life in the suburbs within a year of having their first child.

I live in a renovated brownstone on Roland Street. There are three units in my building. I own the top floor condo which is about eight hundred square feet, and the roof rights that go along with it. There are two bedrooms, one of which I use as a guestroom and place for those artifacts of early days I just can't bring myself to throw away. (Wade, it should be said, was not very happy about the notion of my bringing some of those items to the loft. He particularly objected to the badly gilded horse with a clock in it's stomach that had once belong to my father's favorite aunt. Helpfully, Wade suggested a storage facility in South Boston.)

Soon after moving to Roland Street, I had a cedar deck erected on the roof. Someday, I thought, when the final nail was hammered, I'll buy a grill and actually learn how to use it. But at the time of my pregnancy the deck was several years old and still without a grill. There were, however, two lounge chairs and a small table with an oversized umbrella.

On the first floor of the building lives an odd duck of a fellow named William Arthur. He could be anywhere from eighty to a hundred, which makes him the oldest person I know. Between Mr. Arthur and me there's Eve Torres and Maryse Quellet and their adopted son, Joey. Joey is one of those preternatural children who are four going on thirty-five.

Eve was born and raised in the tough working-class of Boston. Maryse was born in Canada. Eve and Maryse have been a couple for close to five years. During the day when I'm at work, Eve and Maryse make good use of the roof deck and I'm happy to let them.

The Saturday morning after my lunch with Jamie, I called my neighbors and asked if I could stop by. I arrived at their condo and sat down at the kitchen table to enjoy some bake goods. "So, I'm pregnant."

"What! Since when?"

"Since about a week ago, I guess. Don't look so shocked."

"I'm not shocked. Well, maybe I am. I thought you said you and your fiance—"

"Wade. And yes, I did say that we weren't planning to have children."

"So?" Maryse took a seat at the kitchen table with me. "What happened? I mean, okay, I know how babies are made. But was it the old-fashioned way, by accident? Or did you change your mind and get yourself inseminated or something."

"The old-fashioned way." I admitted. "It was completely an accident. Wade's boys slipped right through my girls' defenses."

"Wow." Eve whistled. "This is big."

"I know. I'm pretty shaken up by this turn of events."

Maryse eyed me closely. "I'm not hearing exuberance, Brianne. Are you happy?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I'm definitely scared. I have absolutely no faith in my parenting skills."

"You'll be a fine parent." Eve said. "Everyone doubts herself at first. It's normal."

"You know, you two are the epitome of good parents." Eve waved her hand dismissively. "No. I mean it. I look at you with Joey and I look at how you treat each other and I think there's no way I'm ever going to achieve that kind of success."

"There's no doubt that it's easier to be a good parent when you relationship with your partner is strong." Maryse said.

"Of course." I replied automatically.

And I wondered. Was my relationship with Wade strong in in the way it would have to be if we were going to pull off being good parents, raising a well-adjusted child, building a happy family?

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	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight:

I shoved hard on the door to the building. Something was definitely blocking it. With a final burst of effort I managed to open the door just enough so that I could slip inside, where I found an enormous cardboard box. I peered down at it; it was from Carrie.

Ah, I thought. The promised books on pregnancy, childbirth and childrearing. Mr. Arthur must have signed for the box while I was out. I carried the stuff up in small quantities as it was too heavy to lift.

"It was difficult letting those books go." Carrie told me when I called to thank her. "It made me truly realize I'm not going to have any more babies." Except for those accidental ones, I thought. But maybe Carrie knew something I didn't about controlling pregnancy. Maybe Ted had had a vasectomy after their third child was born. Maybe Wade should have had a vasectomy.

Later that evening I opened the books with trepidation. I knew virtually nothing about pregnancy, let alone about the actual birth process. Childrearing? That could wait. There were plenty of scary new experience to deal with first. By the end of the evening, I knew more than I'd ever wanted to know.

And before my bell began to protrude, my waist would widen. My skin might break out; I might be plagued with broken capillaries. There was a good chance I would suffer morning sickness, which could strike at any time of the day or night, and the accompanying sense of vertigo. The very smell of something as innocuous as broiled chicken might cause me to gag. Dizziness might cause me to fall down and hit my head on the coffee table.

Which—who knew?—might cause a miscarriage. Because according to one source, something like ten percent of pregnancies end within three months. That was only twelve weeks. Another source stated that approximately one out of every five pregnancies ends in miscarriage. I closed the final book, exhausted. I couldn't read another word. Not the evening. But I could do some thinking.

First, I got a glass of juice and settled on the couch. In truth, I'd never felt a maternal urge, not even when Carrie's first was born; I hadn't really understood what the excitement was about. Over the years, whenever friends asked if I wanted children, I told them that I was postponing serious thought about a family until I was married. Well, here I was, just about as good as married. And together with my fiancé I'd given the notion of a family some serious thought and decided it just wasn't for me. And then I'd gotten pregnant.

What was I supposed to do? End the pregnancy and do some more thinking? Anyway for me, ending the pregnancy just wasn't a viable option. I'm not a religious person, but I couldn't help wonder why I had gotten pregnant, and why at that particular moment in my life and why with Wade? Was some power sending me a message? That I should choose life and become a mother?

I finished the juice and headed to bed. I stared into the dark and wondered, would I discover the answer to that question in the coming months? And would I like what I discovered? Why do we choose to marry the ones we choose to marry? Why are we so often wrong in our choices?

Sometimes good choices go bad, and there's no way to know that up front. Some choices are wrong from the start and everyone seems to know that but the one who made the choice in the first place. I chose to marry to Wade because he made me feel safe. Our life together was ordered and unchallenging. It was as calm as life can be for two urban-dwelling business people. We were buffeted by the accoutrements of financial success, unencumbered by sick or poor parents and blessed with good looks and health.

I've said that I'm not an impetuous person. I've never had a one-night stand. I never wrote a college paper at the last minute. So I suppose it was no surprise to anyone that the man I chose to marry was consistently mild-mannered and no confrontational. I just wanted to be me. And I wanted a husband who would accept that. Wade seemed to be that husband. Supportive without crowding me; soothing without treating me like a helpless child. And right then, I needed some soothing. It had been days since I'd taken the home pregnancy test and we still hadn't broken the news to our parents. I'd made Wade promise not to tell them until I'd seen the doctor.

"Why? Do you think maybe you're wrong?" Wade asked, confusion clearly stamped across his face. "Do you think you're not really pregnant?"

"No, no." I assured him. I knew I was pregnant. The sudden onset of morning sickness was indisputable evidence. "I just…I'm just a little bit afraid, you know. That everything's not all right and—"

Wade interrupted. "Everything's going to be fine, Brianne. You're healthy and I'm healthy and we have the money for the best doctors, the best hospitals. Nothing can go wrong."

"Anything can go wrong, Wade." I said. I reached for one of the books Carrie had sent me. "Listen. This says that most miscarriages that occur within the first three months are the result of a genetic malformation of the embryo. And that's not something I can control, Wade."

Wade put his hands lightly on my shoulders. "You shouldn't spend so much time with those books, Brianne. They're making you too upset. Listen to me, okay? Nothing will go wrong. I promise."

Why, I wondered, do people promise what they know they can't deliver? And then I realized, looking up into Wade's earnest, matinee idol face that he really did believe they could deliver on his promise of perfection. Was it an overdeveloped ego? Or a sort of innocence? Wade had lived a life in which he'd never really known hardship, a life in which his parents or their money could solve most problems handily.

In the end, did it matter why Wade felt so sure? No. because I wanted to believe his promise of perfect of life. "Thanks." I whispered and went into his arms.

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	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine:

"Hi." Wade said. "It's me Wade."

After almost a year together, Wade still felt the need to identify himself by name every time he called my cell phone. Even though he knew his name came up on the screen and that, of course, I would recognize his voice.

"Yes." I said. "I know. What's going on?"

"Nothing much."

"Okay."

"I just wanted you to know that I told Rob about the baby. Now, before you get upset, he promised not to tell Mom and Dad."

Well, we hadn't promised not to tell our siblings, had we? Still I felt a twinge of annoyance. Wade worshipped his older brother although he'd deny it heartily. Really, it was a sort of self-worship. Rob was simply a thirty-five-year-old version of Wade, as well groomed, well dressed, and uninspired. No wonder Rob's relationship with the brilliant chemical engineer hadn't lasted.

Brianne, I scolded silently. Don't be mean. Not for the first time it occurred to me that I might be a wee bit jealous of the close relationship Rob and Wade shared. My own sister and I weren't exactly the best of buddies, although there was no hostility between us. There wasn't much of anything, really. The Trufan family could never be described as closely knit.

"How did he take the news?"

Wade laughed lightly. He was happy for me, of course. He gave me some advice on getting into the best private preschools and—"

I didn't hear much else of what Wade had to say. I was glad Rob was happy for Wade. Really. Maybe, I thought later, as I got ready for bed, maybe I should tell my own brother the big news. But why? The truth was it didn't' matter to me whether Mark learned about the pregnancy now or later.

I suppose it was nice growing up with an older brother. Mark did all the expected, big brotherly things like threaten the bully who taunted me in second grade and warn me against certain boys when I began to date and even, on occasion, give me little treats like barrettes for my hair. But then Mark went college and then on to business school in Virginia and then he got married to a woman, Taylor, who I didn't really like and the inevitable happened. We began to see each other only a few times a year, mostly on holidays and to talk on the phone only when there was important information to relate.

Today Mark lives out in Lincoln, a few miles from the Weston house he gave up in the divorce. Taylor and Mark have two children, six-year-old, Nicholas and four-year-old, Ashlyn. Mark is a devoted father; no matter the circumstances he would never have moved far away from his family. But in this case his presence is even more of a necessity. Nicholas has a fairly severe form of autism, one that seems to be worsening as he ages.

I often wonder, if Mark and Taylor had known then what they know now, that their marriage wasn't going to stand the strain of Nicholas's caretaking and all the attendant stresses, would they have had another baby?

As far as I can tell neither Mark nor Taylor has much of a personal life. Things seem to have gotten even more hectic and financially strained since the divorce, and how could they not have? Sometimes—like when my brother got bronchitis twice last winter and still had to go to work and fulfill his duties as dad and there was no one to take care of him when he collapsed into bed each night—I think that maybe it would have made more sense for Mark and Taylor not to get divorced. But what do I really know of my brother's life?

I called Mark at his downtown office the very next afternoon. He works for State Street as a financial analyst. You can see again why Mark doesn't have much time for himself. Virtually all the hours not spent commuting—about two hours daily—and working—ten hours are common—are spent with the kids.

"Hi." I said when his assistant had put me through. "It's me."

"I know. Paige told me. What's up?" He sounded distracted, busy, remote.

"Can I come out for a bit his Saturday? Maybe for lunch. I'll bring something."

"The kids will be there you know." He said.

"I figured. That's fine."

"Then sure. Come around noon. Ashlyn's got swimming lessons at two-thirty and Nicholas has physical therapy at three, so that gives us two hours before I have to get on the road."

I thanked Mark and hung up. Sometimes I wondered how much my decision not to have children of my own had been informed by the example of Mark and his family. Maybe my choosing not to have children was like dodging a bullet pretty sure to shatter at least some aspects of my life.

Dodging a bullet. How grim. And how ridiculous to think I'd protected myself from harm by deciding not to have children. Because now I was pregnant in spite of that decision, and if my life hadn't exactly been harmed it certainly had been disrupted. Face it, Brianne, I told myself. There are no guarantees in this world. You'd have to be dumb not to know that. But you didn't have to like it.

I called Kristen and suggested we meet for a drink one evening.

"This week is hell for me." She said briskly. "But I can give you half an hour on Wednesday. Meet me at six at the bar at Leopard."

Kristen Newman seems to have everything. She left the financial services firm where she'd been a bond analyst since graduating from business school and started her own financial consultant business. If her designer clothes, spectacular apartment at the Marina Bay Condo development, 7 Series BMW, and twice yearly trips to Canyon Ranch are any indication of financial success, Kristen is winner.

I met Kristen about the time I met Wade, at a small women-in-business seminar I hadn't wanted to go to in the first place. Neither, it turned out, had Kristen, but she'd been offered a nice honorarium to speak. I was never really close to Kristen, not in the way I'm close to Elise, Carrie, and Jamie. We had no common history and no shared interests other than owning our own businesses. I'm not quite sure why we called each other friends; maybe we never actually used that term.

Whatever the case, Kristen was in my life at the time I met and got engaged to Wade. And at the time I found out I was pregnant. And the reason this is significant is because, for reason I still can't fathom, Kirsten wanted a child. She was actively pursuing adoption, having given up on the possibility of marriage and having declared quite emphatically that she would never be so insane as to go through a pregnancy without a husband.

Anyway, there I was, engaged to a wonderful man and pregnant with his child. And there was poor Kristen, wading through the red tape of legal adoption, spending large amounts of money to no avail and going home every night to an empty, albeit luxurious, apartment. And I had to tell her I was going to have a baby.

Elise never liked Kristen. In fact, it was a mutual loathing at first sight. "I don't loathe her." Elise once protested after a particularly acid exchange between the two women over cocktails at the Four Seasons. "I just distrust her. And I despise her. I don't' know why you're friends with that woman. I don't know why you keep asking her to join us."

Frankly, I'm not sure why I continued to include Kristen in our social plans. Kristen was a lonely person. Maybe I was her only real friend. Maybe she felt it was better to spend an evening sparring with Elise than to sit home alone.

Anyway, Wednesday came around. I got to Leopard a few minutes early and took a small table away from the already crowded bar. I wanted some privacy when I told Kristen my news. At precisely six o'clock, Kristen arrived. She ordered a glass of champagne. She made no comment when I asked for a glass of seltzer with lime.

"I've got some news." I said when our drinks had arrived. My tone was tentative, gentle. "I'm pregnant. Isn't that funny? I wasn't even planning it and—"

The look on Kristen's face stopped me cold. "Well, isn't that just wonderful for you." She said full of sarcasm.

I felt as if I'd been slapped in the face, hard. I felt nauseous. "Sorry Brianne." Kristen said briskly. "But you really can't expect me to be thrilled for you when I've been going through hell with this adoption process."

I attempted a smile. "Could you at least be mildly pleased? Neutral even?"

"I thought Wade didn't want a family." She replied.

"He didn't. But now he does."

"Now he says he does." Kristen's words were murmured but I heard them. And I decided to steer the conversation away from me.

"So, is there any good news about the adoption?"

Kristen's answer came firing back. "Everyone I've been dealing with is an ass. I had to fire my attorney for doctoring his bill and the so-called professionals at the agency are just incredibly stupid. I swear I want to bitch slap them all, and I would if it would shake some sense into them but all it would do is get me arrested. But once I get the kid, those bitches are going to hear from me."

I attempted a sympathetic smile. "Oh, I see."

Kristen left shortly after that, claiming another appointment. She hadn't left any money for her drink. She was probably too rattled by my news to remember that she'd consumed nine dollars worth of bubbly. Poor Kristen, I thought, watching her leave the restaurant, Prada bag over her arm, Manolo Blahinks tapping smartly against the Italian marble floor. Life can be so unfair. She has so much but not the one thing she really wants.

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	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten:

Mark met me at the train station that Saturday at noon, which was very nice of him considering my visit was probably ruining his well-honed schedule.

"Where are the kids?" I asked as we pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway.

"Hello to you too."

"Sorry. Hello." I leaned over and pecked my brother's cheek.

"The neighbor's watching them for a while." He said. "I had to make a few stops before meeting you."

"Thanks for picking me up."

"No big deal. The station is between the dry cleaners and home."

"Oh, good."

Ten minutes later we were in the kitchen of Mark's small ranch house. It was clean, but kids' toys and backpacks and sports equipment were strewn everywhere. I removed a pink sneaker from one of the kitchen chairs and sat. Mark opened the fridge and took out a half empty plastic jug of orange juice.

"It's all I have to drink." He said, unapologetically. "This and coffee."

"Juice is fine." I replied. "I'm off coffee for the duration. I'm pregnant."

"Huh." Mark poured two small glasses of juice and handed me one. "Congratulations. I thought you and Wade decided to pass on the kid thing."

"We did decide to pass on the kid thing. But things happen, you know."

"I do know. So, how's Wade handling it?"

"Great. He's thrilled. He's acting like a kid on Christmas morning."

"That must be a relief."

"It's a lot better than his leaving me." I replied.

Mark looked at me. "Have you told Mom and Dad yet?

"No, I'm going to through. Soon. I want to see my doctor first and all."

"Why are you putting it off? Mom's going too thrilled. And even though Dad's not overly fond of Wade—"

"He isn't?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I though you knew that."

Well, the truth was I did sort of know that. I mean, my father isn't' exactly subtle or a good social liar. And he and Wade are so different in so many ways. It dawned on me then that all I knew Wade might not like my father all that much.

"It's okay."

"Well, what I was going to say is that Dad will be thrilled he's getting another grandchild. I'm sure of it."

I wasn't so sure but I didn't argue. Neither Dad nor Mom is much in the grandparent department. They prefer golf vacation in North Carolina with other comfortably situated couples to family trips to Disney World.

"Will you tell Taylor?" I asked.

"Sure, if you want me to. Or you could call her yourself."

"I'm kind of uncomfortable doing that. Since the divorce, things have been a little awkward between us. I'm sorry."

"She's a good mother. She might be of some help along the way."

"Okay. Thanks."

Mark and I ate lunch in relative silence and at two o'clock I helped him herd Nicholas and Ashlyn into the family SUV. Mark drove me to the train station. I leaned over the back seat and blew the children kisses. Neither seemed particularly sorry to see me go. Nicholas was staring out the side window; Ashlyn was playing with a doll. I climbed out of the SUV.

"Good luck, Brianne." Mark said as he pulled away. What my brother didn't say but what I know he was thinking: You're going to need it.

"I made an appointment to see my gynecologist this Thursday."I said. Wade and I were at the condo; we'd met there after work to discuss color choices for the master bathroom. "Her office is in Chestnut Hill."

Wade looked up from the paint samples he was studying. "Good. I'll send my car service to take you there and back. I don't want you dealing with the T. There are too many deranged people in this city, and God knows how many germs are floating around those filthy cars."

"I was kind of hoping you would come with me." I said.

"Brianne, I can't." Wade handed me the stack of paint samples. "Take a look at these. I'm leaning toward Seashell for the master bath. We'll need an accent color of course."

"Why can't you?" I asked. I put the stack of samples on the counter.

"Because I've got meetings all day Thursday." He said. "Maybe Cocoa Cream instead of Seashell. See what you think. And remember the tile we chose. There's a sample in my office."

"Couldn't you reschedule something?" I asked sweetly. "My appointment is at 10:00. I guess it should take about a half hour. We'll be back in town by eleven. Eleven fifteen.

Wade put his hands on my shoulders and squeezed gently. "Brianne, I'm sorry. I can't. Why don't you ask one of your girlfriends to go with you? I mean it's a woman thing."

"Don't you want to be involved in the pregnancy?" I asked as he dropped his hands and stepped away from me.

"Well, sure." Wade said amicably but his eyes showed he was losing patience for the conversation. "Of course. But let's face it, Brianne. There are certain things you'll have to do all on your own. I can only be there for you up to a certain point."

"Okay. I'll be fine."

Wade planted a tiny kiss on my forehead. "I know you will. Call the office when the appointment is over and let me know how it went. Leave a message with Heath if I can't be disturbed."

I went back to my apartment soon after. It was only nine but I was tired. I got into bed and thought about the fact that I'd been on own for a long time. I thought about the fact that I'd done pretty much everything on my own, from building a business to buying an apartment, from taking a vacation in Jamaica to going to the hospital for a cervical biopsy. I thought about the fact that I was good on my own, strong and competent. But the truth was I did not want to go to that doctor's appointment alone and I did not want to go with anyone but my fiancé.

On Thursday morning, I took the car to the medical building. I got off the elevator and walked to Suite 293. There were two obviously pregnant women in the waiting room. Both were with the men I took to be the fathers. I smiled awkwardly at everyone and walked up to the receptionist's desk.

Observable social truth: Women who aren't pregnant go to the gynecologist alone. Women who are pregnant go with their mates. "Is your husband with you Mrs.—"The receptionist asked.

"Ms. Trufan." I said. "And it would be my fiancé. Wade Barrett. And no, he's not here. He's out of town on business."

The receptionist suggested I take a seat. I took a seat at the other end of the waiting area. Twenty minutes later, I was flat on my back, my feet in cold metal stirrups. Dr. McKane could never be described as a warm and fuzzy person. But I can do without a great bedside manner in medical personnel as long as they've got education, experience and expertise.

Dr. McKane got up from her swivel stool and carefully stripped off her latex examining gloves. "You're fine." She said briskly.

"Good." I said.

"So was this pregnancy planned?"

"No. My fiancé and I decided not to have children."

"I see." She said. If I'd been deaf to the tone of judgment in the doctor's voice, I still couldn't have missed the disdain displayed by the flair of her right nostril.

I wondered, does getting pregnant accidentally make me a bad person? Does it mean I'm going to be a bad mother? Irresponsible? Self-centered? Emotionally unavailable? "But we're going through with it. The pregnancy. That's why I'm here, of course. We want the baby. Really."

"Okay.'

"I've read that lots of pregnancies end in miscarriage."

"That's true."

"Am I at risk?

"I don't see anything in your history that would suggest that."

"Should I schedule an amniocentesis?" I asked, not entirely sure what that was.

"Well it's far too early for an amino. We do one at the end of the fourth month. I wouldn't worry about that now. Let's see you through a few more weeks. If everything's going well—"

"You mean if I'm still pregnant."

"Yes, if the pregnancy is still in place, then we'll schedule an amino and whatever other test seem wise."

"And then?"

"Then we'll analyze the results and then you can decide what to do."

"I don't.. What do you mean, decided what to do?"

"Decide whether or not to let the pregnancy continue."

"Oh." I said. "Can I decide not to have those tests?"

"Of course. But you don't' want to spend months worrying, do you? Not knowing is not a healthy thing. Information is good for you and your baby. I'm going to strongly recommend you do everything I tell you to do. I'm going to give you prescriptions for vitamins and dietary supplements and I'm going to want you to take them, every day, okay?'

"Okay. Can I get dressed now?"

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	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven:

There was no putting off any longer. The doctor had confirmed the pregnancy. Now Wade and I had no choice but to make the announcement to our parents. That would make it all official.

"Do you think?" Wade asked. "That we should tell our parents in person?"

"Isn't that making too big a deal of it?"

"Well, it is a big deal."

"The pregnancy or telling? I think we should just tell our parents over the phone. We'll see them soon enough after that."

At least, I thought, we'll see Wade's parents. Mine aren't exactly the emotional sort. I used to wonder why they even had children. Then I realized that Mark and I were more than likely accidents. I wondered now if Wade and my announcement—that we were having an accident—would cause even a mild emotional response.

Reluctantly, Wade agreed to telling our parents over the phone. So one evening we called first my parents—Wade said that's the way it should be done—and then his. Here's what they said.

Mrs. Trufan: "Well, congratulations. When are you due, dear? Because your father and I have already booked a trip to Florida for late November and it's nonrefundable, so you'll understand if we're not around for the birth."

Mr. Trufan: "Have you started a college fund? It's never too early to start a college fund."

Mrs. Barrett: "That's wonderful, Wade! Oh, I have so much to do! I've got to call Aunt Aggie right away and tell her the good news that our little Wade is going to be a daddy! And I'll talk to Pastor Martin first thing tomorrow and see about booking the rectory basement for a party. But I'm jumping ahead. Oh, Brianne. Are you there, too?"

Mr. Barrett: "Good work, son. You didn't forget that meeting we have tomorrow with the auditors? Nine o'clock sharp."

When we finally hung up the receivers, Wade looked exhausted. "I'm going to pour myself a scotch." He said. "I'm sorry you can't have one with me."

"Me too." I said, patting his arm.

My sex life with Wade was undemanding, pleasant, and routine, and that was all right with me. I enjoyed sex as much as the next woman. I wanted to be wanted; when I met Wade I seemed to have met my perfect sexual partner. Undemanding, pleasant, and routine. And when Wade asked me to marry him I thought, so what if I'll never know really over-the-top passion? There' more to life than sex. There's certainly more to marriage every married woman I knew had confirmed that truth. And then when I got pregnant I thought, with a baby in the next room—or if Wade got his way, in a crib by our bedside—how could we possibly have a passionate sex life even if we were the passionate types? There was a good chance that with the baby's arrival our sex life would disappear entirely.

But the baby hadn't yet made an appearance and already our intimate life was a thing of the past. I've read that some men are turned on by their wives' pregnancy but that wasn't the case with Wade. After that first night of victory sex—in actuality there was nothing triumphant about it—he made no further sexual advances and repulsed the few I worked up the nerve to make.

The first time we were in Wade's fabulously expensive bed. It was about 10 p.m. Wade had just turned out his reading light. "So." I said nestling against his shoulder, "Do you, you know?"

Wade didn't respond; I knew he was awake but I thought that maybe he hadn't quite heard me. "Wade?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Brianne." His tone made his answer final.

"Why not?" I asked.

Wade shifted away from me and yawned. "It's been a long day. I'm going to get some sleep. Good night, Brianne." He turned toward the door, his back to me.

"I'm not sick, Wade." I said trying to keep the annoyance from my voice. "I'm just pregnant. Wade, are you listening to me?" His answer was a slight snore. And within minutes, I, too, was asleep.

The next day I felt bad for being annoyed with Wade. I remembered reading that a father-to-be might be a bit nervous about sex. If Wade harbored fears of hurting the baby or me, it was my job to put his mind to rest.

A few nights later we were sitting in the living room of the loft. It was about eight o'clock. I was reading a copy of The Girlfriends' Guide to Pregnancy.

"This book is really informative." I said brightly. "It's really putting my mind at ease about so many things. For example, did you know that having sex won't hurt the baby? Unless the doctor orders me on full pelvic rest which would mean she thought I was at a particular risk for miscarriage, we can have sex without any worries."

"That's great, Brianne." Wade smiled at me fondly and then looked back to the magazine.

I waited a full five minutes before picking up another book. "This is reassuring. This book also confirms that sex can't hurt the baby. The baby's perfectly safe in the womb."

There was no response from my lover. He continued to read the magazine. "Wade?"

"Huh?" He looked up from the magazine, eyes wide and slightly startled. "What did you say? I'm sorry, Brianne, I didn't hear you. I'm reading this very interesting article."

"Nothing." I smiled and shrugged. "Just thinking out loud." Wade smiled and once again resumed reading.

Okay, I thought. Maybe my timing is bad. Maybe Wade is too tired to fool around at night. Maybe now that the baby is coming he's working extra hard at the office to build up that college fund my father is always talking about. So, I decided to abandon the idea of sex at night and apply my feminine wiles in the morning. Wade isn't a morning person but we all know what men wake up sporting. They can't help it. It just happens. Wade might be groggy, I considered, but his required effort would be minimal. I was sure he could handle the job.

The next morning Wade's alarm clock went off at seven o'clock. I'd been awake and ready since six. With a groan he turned off the pulsing machine. I rolled against his back and slipped my hand over his hip. And before anything at all could happen, Wade shot from the bed and was in the master bathroom, door close, shower running.

One more option remained. Afternoon delight. Admittedly, it was a long shot. Wade and I rarely—had we ever?—made love at odd hours. Sex was associated with bed, which was associated with sleep, and neither of us were big nap takers. But I was determined.

So, when one Saturday Wade and I found ourselves at loose ends because the architect had cancelled his visit at the last minute, I thought, perfect. Two hours before our next appointment, which was at high-end furniture store in the Back Bay, and nothing to do in the meantime but flip through decorating magazines together.

I looked hopefully at Wade. He was standing at the kitchen counter, ever so carefully peeling a grapefruit with a paring knife. His face wore a slight frown of concentration. Or was it distaste? Wade didn't like grapefruit. He was peeling it for me. I hadn't asked for a grapefruit but Wade said he wanted me to eat more citrus.

I opened my mouth. Wade flicked a grapefruit seed into the sink with a finicky flip for his manicured fingers. I closed my mouth. A girl can only take so much rejection.

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	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve:

"Brianne." Wade said. "Would you like something to drink?"

"No." I snapped. "Thanks, I'm fine."

It had been a trying day. The printer had delivered the right invitations on the wrong paper; proving they were the ones who'd screwed up the order took half the morning. And dear, eccentric Mrs. King through Ms. Blank had further compounded my problems by twice misplacing the list of questions I'd faxed to her. All I wanted to do that evening was watch a mildly amusing sitcom and drift off to sleep. But I still had some bills to review; my accountant was expecting a variety of papers the following day. Wade, probably thinking I wanted his company, had stopped by after what seemed to have been a stress-free day at his family's successful construction business.

Why, I wondered with some impatience, as Wade nibbled a small piece of Manchego cheese, didn't he ever bring work home with him? True, he often worked late but I'd come to learn that "working late" meant drinks and dinner with clients, potential clients and his father's cronies. Suddenly every little noise my beloved fiancé made shredded my nerves. Wade cleared his throat and I wanted to scratch his eyes out. He slit open an envelope and I wanted to scream. He poured himself a glass of wine and the sound of the liquid filling the glass was enough to force an "EEErrrgghhh!" From my lips.

Wade looked up startled. "What's wrong, Brianne?"

"Nothing's wrong." I snapped. "I'm just trying to work."

Wade raised his hands in the universal gesture of surrender. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry I asked."

"Okay, do you want to know what's wrong? I'll tell you. It's just that there's so much to do. There's always a phone call to make or an order to pick up or a client to appease. It never ends, Wade. And I'm so on top of things, it's not like I'm negligent. I just…I just don't know how I'm going to handle running the business and caring for a baby. I just don't know."

Wade was calmness personified. Calmness and neatness. He'd been home from the office for two hours and was still wearing suit pants, a white shirt, and a tie. He was barely wrinkled. "Well, you can always close the business for a while. It would be like a sabbatical."

I swear I thought I would pass out. I sank back onto the couch heavily. Breath, I told myself. Just breathe. And then, try to explain that what Wade has just suggested is impossible.

"That would be career suicide, Wade." I said more forcefully than I'd intended. "Once I'm off the scent, I'm off. Do you have any idea how hard it would be to win back my former clients, let alone woo new ones? I'm in a business that's all about relationships and relationships have to be maintained. If I shut down Brianne's Occasions, my regular clients will see it as abandonment and find someone else to take care of them. And then when I'm ready to start up again, it will be that much harder to—"

"Calm down Brianne. I'm not—"

"—Make new connections. I'd have to relearn the social scene, who's hot, what's not. Besides. I like my business. I like working."

Wade chuckled. Since when had he taken to chuckling? Since I'd told him we were going to have a baby, that's when.

"You'll be working with the baby, believe me." Wade said all knowingly. "My mother and my aunts tell stories. You know, why don't you talk to my mother and to your friend, Carrie, the one with all the kids."

"Three kids." I said. He hadn't understood.

"Okay, so talk to her. And talk to your sister-in-law, too. What's her name again? She must have her share of stories. Brianne, I think you'll see that you're in for a huge amount of work right here at home. And honestly, if we can afford to live on one salary, and we can, why kill yourself keeping Brianne's Occasions alive?"

Because it's my creation, I answered silently. In a way, it's my first child. Wade abandoned the armchair and joined me on the couch. I fought the impulse to scoot away.

"Come on, Brianne, promise me you'll at least think about giving up your business. Hey, I could help you negotiate a sale of your client list. Well, my lawyer could. Just think about it, okay? You don't' have to make a decision right away. You still have some time."

I didn't reply. Wade seemed to take my silence for acquiescence. "Besides." He went on. "Everyone says the minute the baby is born you're not going to want to spend one minute away from him. Wade, Junior. Think of how much easier it will be to have sold off the business before the baby's born so you can concentrate on what really matters."

"What really matters."I repeated dully. Not me, not Wade, not our marriage, not my career.

Wade squeezed my shoulders in a fatherly way. "Good girl." He said. "I know you'll do the right thing."

Elise and I were at the bar at Suede. She looked impeccable, as always, in her simple white blouse and black slacks. I wore a vintage Diane von Furstenberg wrap-around dress with knee high Kenneth Cole boots. Since I'd discovered I was pregnant and learned that my body was about to undergo several alarming changes, I was mad to wear every piece in my extensive wardrobe.

I complained about this impending problem to Elise. "It's such a waste really."I said finally. "I've spent so much time and money on these beautiful clothes, and now…"

"Do you even like children?" She asked bluntly.

"Of course I like children." I replied. "I just don't really know many children and I haven't spent much time with the ones I do know."

"What about Carrie's kids?" Elise asked.

"What about them? I've never even babysat for them. I wonder if I should be insulted that Carrie's never asked me."

"Have you ever volunteered?"

"No." I admitted. "I'm not really comfortable with the notion of babysitting. It's such a huge responsibility. I don't trust myself to keep a child safe and sound."

"Brianne." Elise countered. "You're one of the most responsible, cautious people I've ever met. You'd be a fine babysitter."

"I lack experience with children."

"Well then why don't you get some? Why don't you ask Carrie if you can watch one of the kids while she's busy with the other two? Start slowly. And what about your brother's kids? You've spent time with them, haven't you?"

"Some but mostly on special occasions. You know on Christmas Day or at a birthday party. Come to think of it. I've never even read a bedtime story to a child or given a bath to a baby or warmed a bottle. It's hopeless, Elise. I'm going to be a terrible mother."

Elise patted my hand. "Poor Brianne. You'll be fine. Let's talk about something else. So what about Italy?"

"What about Italy?" I asked.

"Is the honeymoon still on? You planned on being away for a month right?"

I took a sip of my steaming herbal, decaffeinated tea. "Of course it's still on. Why wouldn't it be?"

Elise sighed. "I thought pregnant women weren't' supposed to fly."

"Only very pregnant women aren't allowed to fly. I think." I was suddenly aware of just how much knowledge I lacked.

Elise raised her glass of merlot to the light and sighed. "I can't imagine spending a month in Italy and not being able to drink wine!"

"Italians aren't as rabid about the alcohol thing as Americans. Lots of pregnant women have a glass or two of wine. Now and then. Once in a while."

"Okay." Elise said. "I'll admit Europeans on the whole are more reasonable about health than Americans. But what's Wade going to say?"

Sometimes it seemed that one of Elise's favorites hobbies was to pick on Wade. And what had he ever done to her but ask me to marry him?

"He'll be fine with it."

"You're deluding yourself. If I know Wade at all and I think I do, he sees this baby as his investment. Why don't' I just say it? He sees this baby as his property. And like any smart businessman, he's going to do whatever it takes to protect that investment. To keep trespassers off his property."

"I thought I was his property." I said lamely attempting a joke.

"You are." Elise pointed first to my face and then to my midsection. "You and the baby. You better believe he'll be ready to whack any guy who comes within ten yards of you."

"Wade is not violent."

Elise shrugged. "You're right. But he is the jealous type. And he won't stand for anyone imposing on his turf. He'll hire someone to whack the intruder."

"You're horrible." I said. "You have such a warped idea of Wade. Why can't you try to like him for my sake?"

"Aren't I always nice to him in person? I bet he doesn't even know I don't like him. Unless you've ratted me out."

"No. I haven't ratted you out. Wade is under the impression that you adore him. He's under the impression that everyone adores him. It's just the way he is. He doesn't have a lot of imagination."

"There is one more thing I wanted to ask you."

"What?" I asked. "What else can possibly ask me that will bring me any lower than I am at this very moment?"

Elise looked at me steadily. "Have you told John?"

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	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen:

John was—is—John Cena, professional photographer. I'd known him for close to four years at that point and worked with him on maybe twenty events. His massive loft, which served as both studio and home, is in the Sowa district on Harrison Avenue near East Berkley.

John Cena and Wade Barrett are polar opposites. Wade is sophisticated; John is rough around the edges. Wade is a businessman; John, although he owns a successful business, is an artist first.

In some ways Boston is more like a small town than big city. Sometimes it seems that everybody knows everybody, at least within certain geographically and socially defined circles. John knew of Wade through some of the larger corporate and charity events he photographed. Wade knew of John through the some of the large corporate and charity events he attended. And they both came to despise each other through me.

Consider the afternoon I showed up at John's studio for a shoot wearing for the first time the three-carat emerald-cut diamond and platinum engagement ring. John pointed at my left hand, which I admit; I was waving around rather conspicuously.

"That thing is monstrous." He growled.

"I know. I like it that way. And thank you for the heartfelt congratulations.'

"I didn't offer congratulations of any kind."

"I know and I don't care."

John grunted. "That Barrett idiot?"

On another afternoon I stopped by John's studio to review the layout I'd completed for the twenty-first birthday of a bimbo-esque socialite. In my bag was an article from the business section of that morning's Globe mentioning Wade as one of the city's up-and-coming and handsome entrepreneurs.

"Did you see this?" I said, sticking the article I'd clipped in his face.

John squinted at it then pushed my hand aside. "I think your taste in husbands is lousy."

I felt the tiny pinpricks of blood vessels popping just beneath the surface of my skin. John Cena, I vowed, was not going to make me break out in a rash!

"Haven't you ever heard of a white lie?" I asked. "Wait, of course you haven't. You've never been introduced to the social graces."

"He's not as smart as you are."

Yes, it seemed John Cena was going to make me break out in a rash. Most infuriating, his own demeanor was bland, unruffled.

"How do you know that?" I cried. "And even if he isn't as smart as I am, so what? What does it matter? Where do you get off making that kind of judgment? Wade owns his own very successful business!"

"It's his father's."

"It was his father's." I corrected. "Now it's his. Mostly."

What's wrong I thought with a parent helping his son get a start in life? The family business was a venerable tradition. John, I decided, was just jealous that nobody had handed him part ownership in a successful business. John was just pissed that he'd had to do everything on his own. John was a bitter, self-made man, that's what he was.

"You're right." He said simply. "Hand me that Exact-O knife?"

John might have been willing to let the subject drop, but I wasn't. I grabbed the tool and thrust it at him. "You're just jealous." I said.

John carefully took the sharp instrument from my hand and looked at me with mild amusement. "Yeah." He said. "That's it exactly."

I was instantly mortified. Of course John wasn't jealous of Wade. The truth was self-evident, at least to me. Wade was jealous of John and he didn't even know it.

"Let's just drop the subject." I said. "Let's just agree to disagree about Wade."

John didn't answer; I left soon after. And now Elise wanted to know if I'd told John that I was pregnant.

When you think about a couple, you don't usually think about the details of their intimate life together. Usually, you assume they have an intimate life and that's really all you need to know. And unless one member of the couple decides to share an intimate detail you remain blissfully ignorant of private matters that are really none of your business. Then someone gets pregnant.

Pregnancy is proof of sex. It's proof of the intimate life your friends assume you have. When someone announces her pregnancy, you're forced to imagine her having sex; even for a split second, the thought flashes into your mind. You can't help it, can you? Announcing a pregnancy is like inviting a person into your bedroom, if only for a moment.

That was why I was not looking forward to telling John Cena I was pregnant. Because telling him I was pregnant was telling him that yes, I definitely had sex with Wade Barrett. My fiancé. The man John disdained.

Of course, I argued with myself about this. Brianne, I wondered, why do you care if John doesn't approve of Wade? Wade doesn't approve of John and that doesn't bother you in the least. Well, it doesn't bother you that much.

And here's what I told myself: I care that John doesn't like Wade because I want all of my friends to like each other. It's the same thing with Elise and Kristen; I'd like them to like each other.

I dropped by John's studio late one afternoon, unannounced. Was this my first ever drop in? I believe it was; it certainly wasn't my last.

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

"Hello to you too. Look, there's something I have to you. Actually, I don't have to tell you. I want to tell you…"

John looked to the ceiling and then walked away, right across the room to a row of shelves. I stood there with my mouth open, like a fool.

"Hello?" I said loudly, to his back. "I was talking to you. You don't just walk away when someone's in the middle of a sentence."

John looked over his shoulder. "You were?" He said. "Sorry. I'm a bit involved."

"You're socially inept." I declared, once again to his back.

"Uh."

"See? You grunt instead of forming an answer with words. An adult answer. A normal person's answer."

"Hmm."

"It's like you were raised in a cave. Were you?"

"Was I what?" John, having found whatever it was he was looking for across the room, rejoined me at one of the cluttered worktables.

"Raised in a cave! And there's another thing. You don't listen."

"Is there anything at all about me you find acceptable?"

"Yes." I admitted. "Your work. I find your work more than acceptable."

"Howie Manowitz's Bar Mitzvah photos?"

"No. Well, that too. I mean your work. Your own. John Cena's photographs. The few I've seen of them, anyway."

"John Cena, artist, retired some years ago. Sorry to disappoint you."

"You didn't disappoint me." I said inanely. I wondered how the conversation had gotten onto the subject of John's work and so far away from what I wanted to talk about. Just tell him, Brianne. Just say it.

"What's wrong?" John asked. "You look like you ate a bad clam."

My stomach lured. It wasn't bad clams; it was nerves. I felt as nervous as I had just before going onstage as a lineless member of the shabby crowd in my senior year's production of Les Miserables.

"Amendment." I said, archly. "You were raised in a cave with a big pile of bat poop for a playmate."

"Guano. Bat poop is called guano."

"I know what it's called. I just like say to bat poop."

"And I'm the one with no social graces?"

"By the way." I blurted. "Have you heard my big news?"

John was busy now cutting a mat. "You got the job doing Barbara King's reunion party?"

"Yes, but that's not the big news." Not the really big news. "I'm pregnant. I mean, Wade and I… We're going to have a baby."

"Congratulations." He said evenly. "Is that what you're supposed to say in a situation like this? You know I'm lousy when it comes to social graces."

"Congratulations is an appropriate thing to say." I told him. To myself I added, it's even nicer when you mean it.

John looked up from the mat. "Hand me those gloves, will you."

I did. I felt like crying.

"What?" He asked. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." I lied. "It's just that, I don't know, you could be, I don't know—"

"Jumping up and down with excitement? Calling the neighbors to tell them the big news?"

I shrugged. I felt like a total fool. "No. I mean—"

"Brianne, your big news doesn't change anything in my life. There's a limit to what I can be excited about." And then he laughed. "Come on, what did you expect me to say?"

I was stunned. I'd never heard anything so cruel. "Nothing." I said. I tried to sound cold, but my voice shook. "I don't expect anything from you. Because you are the most self-centered person I have ever met. And there's no reason to be such a jerk."

"Don't cry, Brianne."

"I am not going to cry."I said, although tears had gathered in my eyes. "And I am not a hormonal wreck, so don't even think about cracking jokes at my expense about female mood swings and ridiculous craving and swollen ankles."

John had the decency to look slightly ashamed. "I wouldn't stoop to quoting the stereotypes." He said. "Look—"

"I'm leaving."I said, cutting off whatever lame apology he might be considering. "I don't know why I'm here anyway."

I practically ran back to my office so great was my anger and my embarrassment. Why, why, why, I wondered with every step, did John have to be such a jerk? Worse, why had I made such a big deal of telling him I was pregnant? What, what, what had I been thinking? Why should John care if I was pregnant? Why should he care about me at all?

And then a sneaking, sly, and seductive voice in my head whispered, because you want him to.

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	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen:

Wade traced an invisible line across the tablecloth. "Can we request a creamier tone?" He said. "This is a bit too harsh for my taste."

The Tuxedo Hotel's wedding coordinator, a dapper man in his mid-thirties named Will LaFord, frowned in a practiced sort of way. "No, Mr. Barrett, I'm sorry. The linen is non-negotiable."

Wade looked at me, then back to the sample table Will had set and frowned. "Well," He finally said. "I suppose they'll do."

"They'll be fine, Wade." I said consolingly. "The centerpieces will look lovely against the white, I'm sure."

Wade had helped in planning most of the wedding. I never asked him too, he just decided on his own to do so. We made the plans with the coordinator and not surprisely Wade and I agreed on much of the same.

When Will's beeper sounded and he excused himself to take a call in his office, Wade and I shared a smiled of content. "We're so in sync, Brianne." He said, taking my hand and squeezing it gently.

I looked up at my fiancé with fondness. "We are, aren't we?"

"Oh." He said releasing my hand. "I almost forgot to tell you the big news. I booked us into The Palace Hotel in Rome, very close to the Spanish Steps. It's amazing that I even got a room only six months before the honeymoon, but I talked to some people and well I think you're going to love it. Of course, it's wonderfully high-end."

Of course. And to be honest, wonderfully high-end sounded, well, wonderful. And I hated to put a damper on what had turned out to be a very pleasant afternoon. But someone had to do it.

"Wade?" I said softly. "I'll be so far along in the pregnancy by then. Six months along. I'm not even sure I'll be allowed to fly. Oh, Wade, I'm so sorry."

Wade's expression remained neutral. "Brianne." He said. "Don't worry about a thing. Why don't you check with your doctor and see what she says. We can always postpone the honeymoon until after the baby is born. My mother can watch the baby or we'll look into hiring an au pair. There's plenty of time and we have plenty of options."

"But you've gone to so much trouble planning it." I said, genuinely sorry for being the unwitting cause of Wade's wasted efforts. "And it all sounds so lovely!"

"It does." He agreed. "An entire month in Italy. But it will still be lovely when we finally go. And just think, it'll be a celebration not only of our marriage but also of your family. Besides, after a few months you'll need a break from the demands of little Brockland or Boundary."

I didn't bother to point out that if I was still breastfeeding little Brockland or Boundary—shudder!—I wouldn't be going anywhere without the baby for a quite a while. I didn't want to further spoil the plans for what would have been our life. Besides, Wade was being so wonderful about the pregnancy.

"You're a very good man, Wade Barrett." I said.

"So I've been told. Now come on. Smile. We still have a cake to taste. But remember, only one bit of each. We don't need the sugar."

My smile faltered just a bit. The truth was I had been fighting off an intense craving for chocolate all morning. I was so looking forward to wolfing down several pieces of rich, gooey wedding cake. And if I were at the tasting alone or with Elise, I would have gone right ahead and done so.

"Right." I said to my perhaps overly fastidious fiancé. "Just one bite."

I couldn't avoid John entirely; we were in the middle of two projects. So I was determined to act as if I'd never told him I was pregnant. As if he'd never been so horrible. As if I'd never been so wounded. I arrived at John's studio out of breath. I wondered. Had I already gained so much weight that I was reduced to huffing and puffing? By the end of the pregnancy would I be getting around town in an electric scooter?

"I've got the seating plan for the Gotts' party." I told him when I'd caught my breath. "And the essential shot list. Absolutely no photos of Mrs. Gott with her in-laws. I didn't ask why, of course, but I got feeling—"

John cut me off. "Those are for you." He said, nodding toward one of the many worktables. This one was made of an old wood door atop two sawhorses and on top of it stood a magnificent arrangement of Blue Moon roses and glossy greenery.

I darted over to the flowers. "They're gorgeous! Who are they from? That's strange. I can't find a card. I guess I can call the florist… Wait a minute. Why would flowers for me have been delivered here?"

"They're from me."

I whirled around, not sure I'd heard him correctly. "From you?"

"Yeah."

"Why?" I asked, none too graciously.

John looked back to his work. "I think you're supposed to give flowers to pregnant women."

"You're supposed to give flowers to all women." I amended. "That is of course, if you're a man of culture."

John shrugged. "Sorry it took me so long. So what can you expect from a cultureless man."

"Thank you, John. Really."

He didn't reply. And I didn't dare bring up the fact that Blue Moon roses are my favorite flower. Whenever they are available, which isn't often, I choose them for special events like twenty-fifth wedding anniversaries. Unless John was entirely deaf or entirely uninterested in anything I had to say, he had to have heard me express my love for the roses the color of blueberry ice cream.

I looked over at John and wondered. My prickly colleague had given me a stunning bouquet of my favorite flowers. What did it mean? Were the flowers simply an apology for his having been such a jerk when I'd told I was pregnant? If so, John's apology was a mighty sincere one, especially if money equaled sincerity, and for John, I doubt it did. So maybe the bouquet wasn't an apology after all.

"Thanks again." I said about to wrestle the arrangement out the door. "For the flowers."

John didn't reply. I quickly left to meet Elise.

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	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen:

"Where did you get those?" Elise asked when I approached her. "Here, put them on this chair." She got up and pulled a third upholstered chair away from the small table. "Magnificent. Who's the florist?"

"Alfonzo's. They do beautiful work."

Elise sat down and peered at me. "You haven't answered my first question. But maybe I should rephrase it. Who gave you the bouquet? I've never seen roses so blue."

"John gave them to me." I said with a nonchalant toss of my head. "You know, because I'm having a baby and maybe because he's sorry he wasn't more excited when I first told him I'm pregnant."

Elise's expression remained neutral, but something in her tone was not. "That's a mighty big apology. And a bit personal from a colleague, don't you think?"

"Not at all." I lied. "Lots of people have given me little gifts since they've learned I'm pregnant."

"Gifts for you or for the baby?"

I considered. "Well, mostly for the baby. I've already gotten three packs of onesies, and I'm not even sure what they are. But Wade gave me a gold bracelet, See?" I held up my right arm to display the glittering bangle.

"That's appropriate." Elise said, unimpressed. "He's your wealthy fiancé."

I looked at the stupendous bouquet, propped in the chair like a third person at the table. A third, troublemaking person. "Are you saying that John's gift is inappropriate?"

Elise laughed. "Everything about John Cena is inappropriate. That's only one of the reasons I like him.'

"That's only one of the reasons I find him infuriating."

"Ah, so he does arouse some passion in your breast."

"I wouldn't call it passion." I protested.

"Strong feelings then." Elise concluded. "That's a start."

"A start of what?"

Elise took a sip of her drink before answering. "I don't know. That's up to you."

I let that remark sink in for a moment. And then I said my voice low. "Are you suggesting I have an affair with John?"

"Absolutely not. What an imagination, Brianne. Pass the cashews, please."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I just think it's good for you to know someone who makes you really feel your feelings. Someone who shakes you up, challenges you, someone who makes you think."

"That someone is you."

"I'm not a man."

"Well, I've got Wade." I've got Wade. It sounded like I had a disease. I've got the flu.

Elise reached for her bag. "Yes, indeed, you have. And I've got to get going. You'd better put those flowers in water soon."

"Each stem is in a little tube of water." I said. And then I thought, that must have cost a pretty penny.

Elise leaned into the bouquet and breathed deeply. "Lovely fragrance. Are you sure you have a big enough vase?"

"Of course. Don't be silly. The bouquet isn't that monstrous."

Our waiter appeared with the check. "Ma'am, that's the biggest bouquet I've ever seen. And working here, I've seen a lot of flowers given to a lot of women. Whoever he is, he knows he's got someone very special."

The waiter walked off and Elise grinned mightily.

"You look like the Cheshire cat." I said. "That's not necessarily a compliment."

"I think the Cheshire cat is quite fetching. Admit it, Brianne. Flowers are a romantic gift."

"Not always." I said."I send my mother flowers on Mother's Day."

"Don't pretend to be obtuse, Brianne. It's very annoying."

"Okay," I admitted. "Maybe John's gift is romantic. But this is a romantic occasion. I'm having a baby. I'm bringing a new life into the world."

I knew how lame I sounded. I didn't need Elise to roll her eyes so dramatically.

"I need to leave." She said.

"Do you really have to go?" I said suddenly wanting very much not to be alone.

"I do. I've got work to do." Elise headed off. I followed a few minutes later.

Later that night I lay in bed and thought. The whole thing, which at first had made me feel oddly excited, now was beginning to make me uncomfortable. John Cena might have feelings for me. And instead of being repulsed or unconcerned, I was enticed by the possibility. Enticed and now disturbed. The idea of John's having feelings for me was one thing but the idea of my having feelings for him in return was quite another.

But I didn't have feelings for John; I wasn't interested in him romantically so there was no problem, was there? But there was a problem. Be honest, Brianne, I told myself. John's feelings alone have no power. What gives them power is your having feelings in return. For some horribly incomprehensible reason, you have feelings for John. Tiny feelings. Just the hint of feelings. But even those miniscule feelings are too much.

I remembered then something that Elise had said to me months earlier. I'd complained about scuffing some shoes on the way back from John's studio.

"I don't know why you spend so much time running over there." She'd said, looking innocently at her new manicure. "Most of your correspondence with John can be done by email or fax."

I'd opened my mouth to respond and realized I had no response. No good one, anyway. And now alone in my darkened bedroom, I wondered, why did I spend so much time face-to-face with John when it wasn't strictly necessary?"

Why, why, why had John given me those flowers? And for one wild moment I wondered, had John tried to outdo Wade's gift? But John didn't know about the gold bracelet, he couldn't; I'd never mentioned it to him. Of course, he might assume that Wade had given me an expensive bauble; men like Wade are very skilled givers of high-price-tag gifts. But would John stoop to such a macho tactic? And to what purpose? To impress me. To offer his sincere apologies. To get me into trouble with Wade.

With a loud groan I tossed back the covers. If I couldn't sleep at least I could do something productive like a read a book, rather than obsess about John and his damned flowers. And about my having happily accepted them. Because accepting those flowers was the closest I'd ever come to doing—to feelings—anything illicit. I wasn't so hormonal that I failed to realize a woman engaged to one man ought not to be titillated by another man's gift of flowers.

Even if the flowers were given in apology of rude behavior. Even if they were given by someone who was nothing more than a friend.

The following night Wade stopped by on his way home from a late meeting with his accountant. The meeting. I learned had been held at Morton's. Wade loves their beefsteak tomatoes; he forgoes the football-sized baked potatoes and passes on the bread.

"Alfonzo's."

"Excuse me?"

Wade walked over the bouquet of roses sitting on the dining table. "Those flowers must be from Alfonzo's. I recognize the style."

"Oh." It was all I could say. Please, please, please, I prayed, don't ask me who gave them to me! You've done nothing wrong, Brianne, I told myself. But I didn't quite believe it.

Wade touched one of the blossoms with a perfectly manicure finger. "When did you get them?"

I felt faint. I didn't know if the truth was the best answer or the worst. I set the cup of tea on the countertop, afraid my hands would start to shake.

"What?"

"When did you buy them?" Wade looked from the flowers to me. "They're amazingly fresh. Alfonzo's has the freshest flowers. Of course the prices are insane. But you know that. You've worked with Alfonzo's for a few events, haven't you?"

Was it possible I would be able to avoid both lying and telling the truth? Was it possible Wade didn't care to press me on the matter? Was it possible I was such a coward?

"Um, yes." I said. "I have."

Wade looked at me with head cocked. Was it concern on his face? Or suspicion? "What's the matter, Brianne? Do you feel sick? You look pale."

I laughed lightly and crossed my arms. It was a gesture of defense, or maybe one of avoidance. "No, no. I'm fine. Just tired. I'm always tired these days"

"Promise me you'll try to get some sleep. Your clients can wait. Your health is more important right now."

I wondered, only right now? Because I'm carrying your baby? "I promise." I said.

Wade gave me a kiss on the cheek and hugged me gently. "I can't say I particularly like the color of those roses." He said pulling away. "There's something strange about it."

"Mmm." I said, noncommittally.

When Wade left I fell onto the couch and breathed a troubled sigh. I got out without having to lie to him about the flowers.

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	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen:

When it comes to names for a baby, everyone and her sister has an opinion. And no one is shy about voicing it. My mother, not usually the type to interfere in my life—some might say, in fact, the day I moved out of the house and went off to college she heaved a huge sigh of relief at her newly empty net—suddenly had several interesting suggestions to make.

"I've always loved the name Myrtle." She told me one afternoon during my weekly call to my parents. "You know, the myrtle has lovely fragrant flowers. Pink and white. Very pretty. I'll never forget the myrtle bushes I saw when your father and I took that package tour to Greece.

I repressed a groan. My mother hadn't been able to offer any advice on recovering my sanity when my high school boyfriend left me for my so-called best friend or when I was starting my own business, but she could serve up suggestions for naming my unborn child.

"Mom." I said, quite calmly. "If I wanted to name my child after a plant I'd choose Rosemary. Or Sage or Fern, or even Daisy. Not Myrtle."

"Now why do you just dismiss the idea of Myrtle?" My mother snapped. "Is it because you're thinking of one of those weird names, like I don't know, Mergatroid or something?"

"No weird names, Mom." I assured her. "Wade doesn't like out of the ordinary names, and neither do I. We're sticking with the classics. Like Elizabeth or Catherine. And if it's a boy, then Stephen or William."

There was a moment of silence, and I dared to think my mother had dropped the subject. "Mom?" I said when the moment had gone on freakishly long.

My mother said. "Have you considered Hazel?"

That evening, I discovered that Wade had had an alarming change of heart. After dinner we settled in my living room. I put on a Madelaine Peyroux CD and got comfortable with Vogue and a cup of tea. Wade stretched out on the couch and put his hands behind his head.

"I've been thinking." He said, musingly. "I want my son to stand out. I want him to be a take-charge kind of guy so he's going to need a take-charge kind of name. You know?"

"Sure." I said, innocently flipping through Vogue, sipping tea, paying only partial attention to my fiance.

"And if she's a girl, well, I want the same thing. I want her to be a real standout. But not aggressive like a boy, of course. I want her to command attention but in a feminine way. I want her to be beautiful and strong but not bitchy. I see my daughter as a Bodecia or maybe an Anastasia."

I choked and reached for a napkin with my free hand. Had I heard Wade correctly? "Sorry?" I said brightly, dabbing my lips.

"Wait a minute." Wade replied, still more to himself than to me. "Didn't that Russian princess Anastasia wind up getting murdered? Or going insane? Something bad happened to her. No, I think a warrior princess makes a better role model after all." Now Wade looked directly at me and smiled. "Bodecia Barrett. That has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"Um." I said, closing the magazine. "Yes. It has a-ring. So, what names are you thinking about for a boy?"

"Caesar is my first choice." He replied, looking back to the ceiling. "But I have considered Thor. Or Attila. Attila Barrett. King seems a bit much, a bit obvious. I don't want to throw my son's superiority in the faces of the lesser kids. Besides, someone might make a comparison to Elvis and I really don't want that happening. No son of mine will die fat and on the toilet."

I thought I might be sick. Carefully, I took another sip of tea and wished it were a vodka tonic. What's next? I wondered. Famous historical battlegrounds? I could see it now: Meet little Waterloo and his sister Iwo Jima. Life isn't hard enough so we wanted to burden our offspring with provocative names that would hang around their wee necks like a big stinky albatross. More important, we wanted everyone we meet to know how clever we are!

"Wade?" I said. "Maybe we should just wait on choosing a name, you know? I've heard stories of parents having a name all picked out, and then the baby is born and they take one look at her and realize the name is all wrong. And then they come up with another name. A brand-new name."

A nice, normal name like Robert or Marianne. Wade smiled indulgently and rose from the couch. "All right. We won't make any decisions yet. No use in your getting upset and upsetting the baby."

I smiled faintly. "But that doesn't mean I won't be thinking." Wade promised, planting a kiss on my forehead like a daddy. "You know me. I'm always thinking."

A few days later, Wade and I were invited to a party at the home of a power couple he had met while vacationing with his brother in St. Barts. Maryse and Drew McIntyre lived in a four million-dollar penthouse in the Four Seasons.

Everyone, Wade told me as we rode the elevator to the McIntyres, was going to be there. Just about everyone was. Including my interesting colleague John Cena. I spotted him as soon as Wade and I came through the front door. He wasn't alone.

"Wade." I said. "Why don't you go on in. I think I saw the Leveseques over by the buffet. I'm going to visit the ladies' room."

Wade looked down at me. "But you went just before we left the apartment."

I smiled stiffly. "Yes, I did. But—"

"Of course." Wade nodded. "Right." He melted into the crowd and I walked right over to John.

"What are you doing here?" I asked by way of greeting.

A slow grin came to John's face. "Nice to see you, too."

"I just saw you three hours ago. I didn't' think it there was a need for niceties."

Let me explain why I was acting like a social cretin and John like a polite, civilized fellow. Next to John stood a woman no older than twenty-one. She was tall and statuesque with long brown flowing hair. My mood was not generous. I had no desire to be introduced to his creature, but perversity won out over mature restraint. "Aren't you going to introduce us?"

John eyed me with some amusement. It annoyed me. "Brianne, this is Rowena. Rowena is an artist. She shows at JAW Gallery. Rowena, Brianne."

I stuck out my hand. "And I'm an event planner."

Rowena stared at my outstretched hand for a full fifteen seconds before giving it a limp little shake.

"Oh." She said with barely a flicker of interest. Then she turned to John. "Darling, there's someone at the bar to whom I just must give greetings. I shan't be but a moment." Rowena glided off toward the open bar.

"Does she have a last name?" I asked. I didn't really want to know that bit of information either but the woman's affectations must have rattled my brain.

John took a slow sip of his drink before answering. "Not that I know of."

Not, then, a serious relationship. And not a friend. Friends know each other's last names. "You are on a date with a woman and you don't know her last name."

"Yes and how do you know it's a date?"

"The way she touched your arm." I blurted. Please, I prayed don't let me be blushing.

"Excellent observation." John's tone was laconic. "But why do you care?"

"I don't."

"Oh."

"You don't believe me?"

"Of course I believe you. Brianne Trufan never lies. Not even to herself."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Hmm. Maybe I should join my date at the bar."

"She looks like an actress in a cheesy summer Renaissance fair." I blurted. "Is she really an artist? What does she create? Mock-medieval pottery shards?"

"That's not very nice." John said although clearly he was half-amused.

"Well, you say mean things about Wade all the time."

"That's different."

"How?"

John's bantering tone changed and he suddenly sounded impatient, almost angry. "Do I really need to explain? I hardly know Rowena. She's just my fairly amusing date for this fairly amusing party. But you're marrying Wade and having his baby."

Rowena chose that mortifying moment to return, a glass of champagne in each hand. She smiled at John seductively. I scurried away. I found Wade staring up at a three-dimensional piece made of paint and found objects on canvas, mounted on the wall. I took a deep, steadying breath and tapped his shoulder.

Wade turned and smiled. "There you are." He said. "I thought I'd lost you."

"You didn't lose me." I slipped my hand into his.

"Where were you?"

"Talking to John. And his date."

"John Cena?"

"Yes" I heard an unanticipated note of defensiveness in my voice. Did Wade hear it, too? "Why?"

Wade's small frown indicated distaste. "I don't know how you tolerate working with that guy. He's just another pitiful wannabe. A whining artist. Who does he think he is?"

Blood rushed to my cheeks and I let go of Wade's hand. Wade was being unfair. He was making himself feel superior by cutting down someone different from him. Someone he considered a rival? The thought flickered across my mind and was gone. I kept my mouth shut. I was mad at Jack. I certainly wasn't going to defend him to my fiancé, the man who was the father of my child. Father, mother, parents, adults.

What a pair Wade and I are, I thought suddenly ashamed of our immature behavior. A sudden screech followed by a prolonged wail caused Wade and I—and every other guest—to turn. In the dead center of the room, a little boy was wrangling with a well-dressed woman. The little boy was throwing what my mother used to call a temper tantrum but what is now generally referred to as a meltdown.

"I can't believe the Geils brought their two year old to this event." I whispered to Wade.

Wade shrugged. "Maybe they couldn't get a sitter."

"Then one of them could have stayed home."

Wade shrugged. "I think its fine. We're going to bring little Chestnut or Badger everywhere. Parties, vacations, concerts."

My stomach sank. We were? And it occurred to me then that Wade and I had never discussed parenting styles. Why would we have? We had decided we weren't going to be parents. As a consequence I knew absolutely nothing about my fiancé views on anything. And he knew nothing about mine. Wade and I were virtual strangers when it came to the basics. And when it came to choice names. Chestnut? Badger?

"So." I said. "You'll watch the baby while you're talking business with a major broker?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Wade, have you ever held a baby?"

"No but what's to learn?"

I didn't know. Maybe there really wasn't much to learn. I tried to remember the times I had held a baby. The number wasn't' impressive. We were both so inexperienced.

Wade's voice called me back to the moment. "Brianne. I have to talk to this guy. He's a friend of my dad's.

Wade strode off. I watched as he shook hands with a man about fifty dressed in a blazer. Within a minute they were deep in conversation.

Wade was going to bring a baby to events like these? Wade was going to talk business with a squirming, drooling, ten-pound baby strapped to the front of his Armani suit?

Not likely. I knew that would routinely be handing off the inconvenient baby to me at parties, restaurants, and concerts.

Because Wade wanted me to close down Brianne's Occasions. He wanted me to be entirely employed in a new venture. He wanted me to be a full-time professional mother. The party was over. It was time to go home. And when I got there, I was going to dump those damn roses.

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	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen:

Carrie wanted to know if I were up to meeting for lunch. "Sure." I told her. "I'm usually done throwing up by ten o'clock."

We met at the Cheesecake Factory. Carrie loves their pizza. For the first half hour she shot me questions about the state of my belly. Finally, I exploded. It was Carrie's obsession with my insides and the fact that all my troublesome insides could handle at the moment were dry breadsticks.

"You know."I snapped. "I'm not just a womb."

"I know, honey, I know." Carrie said soothingly.

"I'm still Brianne." I said. "I'll always be Brianne."

"Brianne, having a baby changes you forever. You're never just who you are. You're never just you. You're always someone's mother. I can't really explain but…"

"But everything you do changes you forever." I argued. "Going to a particular college, moving to a particular city, marrying—or not marrying—a particular guy. Even seeing a particular move or reading a particular book can change you forever. I swear I've never been the same since I read Wuthering Heights"

"That's all true." Carrie admitted. "But I don't know. Becoming a mother changes your identity so radically. At least it did for me. Maybe not every woman has that same experience."

Something deep inside told me they probably did. I looked at my friend and suddenly saw her as she was when I first knew her, still in her teens. "Are you sad you aren't you anymore?"

"I'm not sad." Carrie said readily. "Exactly. Sometimes I feel a bit wistful about the young girl I once was. The truth is I can hardly remember her. But Brianne, believe me when I say I don't want to be who I was before I became a mother."

"I believe you." I said.

"There's just no point in dwelling on the past." Carrie paused before going on. "Still, sometimes I feel kind of burdened. Kind of encumbered. Maybe I'm just tried. I'd love a nice long nap! But I don't think I'm going to get one until T.J. leaves for college. Only seventeen more years to go."

"Oh Carrie, how do you do it? Please tell me how to be a parent!"

"Brianne." She said. "I have no idea how to be a parent. No one does. When you're a parent, there's no time for ideas or theories. You just act. You just do what comes naturally and hope it works."

"I hope it works for me." I laughed a little.

We parted soon after that. Carrie headed back to her husband and children, the people who largely defined her. I went back to my office, to the business I'd so carefully created and built. And on the way I wondered: Was there any way to be in a loving, committed relationship and still remain in your possession? Or did intimacy—true love—render that impossible?

As far as future mothers-in-law went, Theresa Barrett was promising. She called her son at home only once a week (although later I learned she called him at his office every day), treated me with respect (although later I learned she had hoped Wade would choose a younger bride), and to that point had largely kept her opinions about the wedding plans to herself (although later I learned she had tried to convince Wade to have the reception at the Barrett's country club). Mrs. Barrett was very good at being almost invisible.

That is, until she found out I was carrying her grandchild. Then, suddenly, my future mother-in-law came roaring into plain sight. Suddenly, I was common property, someone to call every other day, someone to cuddle like a puppy. She touched me every time she saw me, my arms, my face, even my belly.

Mrs. Barrett called me one evening at my apartment. She wanted us to have lunch sometime that week. She'd been to my office a few times so I suggest we meet here. Having lived in well-tended, well-policed suburbs all of her adult life, Mrs. Barrett wasn't entirely comfortable traveling around the city on her own.

I'd just ended a call from a whiney client when Mrs. Barrett appeared at the door. She took a seat across from my desk. "I was thinking while you're here, we could talk about my bridal registry?"

"Oh." Mrs. Barrett looked surprised. "What about it?"

"Well, I noticed that not many items have been bought yet. I was wondering—"

Mrs. Barrett laughed a fond, motherly laugh. "Oh, silly Brianne! Of course no one's been buying from your bridal registry! Everyone's waiting to see your baby shower registry. I mean, what's more important now, right? The baby, of course! A baby is much more exciting than a wedding!"

What she meant to say was that a baby is much more exciting than a bride. "Oh." I said. I thought, I want my wedding. Am I a bad person to want the wedding I planned even if I am pregnant? I want to be a bride. I have a right to be a bride! Don't I?

"And by the way, Brianne." She said. "I want to give you this." She handed me a piece of yellow paper.

"What's this?" I said, unfolding the paper.

"Well." Mrs. Barrett explained. "I knew you'd want to consider some of the Barrett family names for Wade's child so I thought I'd save you some time by making a list of the most important ones."

Wade's child? Ah, I was simply the vessel, the receptacle, the human tote bag. "Important?"

"Yes. Like for example, Temperance. See? At the top of the list."

"Temperance?" I repeated.

"Temperance was Wade's great-great grandfather's wife's third cousin." She died in childbirth. The poor thing was only eighteen. I always thought it would be nice to honor her memory, but as you know, I just had the two boys."

No, you certainly couldn't name a boy Temperance, I thought stupidly. But what was I giving birth to, a pilgrim? I smiled weakly, and when Mrs. Barrett once more stuck her hand into the depths of her bag, I slipped the paper into the trashcan under my desk.

"We'd better get going." I said.

Mrs. Barrett didn't' seem to have heard me. She smiled triumphantly and held up what looked exactly like a wad of dirty dreadlocks. "Don't you love it!" She cried. "It's a sweater. I had it made especially for the baby by one of the ladies at the nursing home where I do volunteer work. Isn't it gorgeous!"

"I think." I said, fighting a sudden gag response. "That if we don't' leave now we'll lose our reservation."

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	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen:

I sat on a bench in the Public Garden, a book closed on my lap. It was a beautiful day but I saw nothing of the flowers and the newly green leaves. The tumult of emotions I'd experienced the morning before while dressing had frightened me. The panic and rage, the hints of desperation and despair—who was I? Not Brianne. At least, not the Brianne I'd known for thirty years. What was happening to me? Who was I becoming?

A mother and her little girl were walking along the paved path. I watched as they detoured onto the grass and went down to the water. The mother took a clear plastic bag from her purse; it was filled with small chunks of bread. Together they began to toss the bread to the ducks. Both mother and daughter had bright blond hair; I wondered how many other traits they shared.

And I wondered about my own child. Would she have my blond hair and blue eyes? Would she have Wade's dark hair and green eyes? Would my child have perfect eyesight, like Wade, or would he have to wear glasses or contacts like my brother and me? Would my child be interested in art of politics or sports or business or all of those? Who would my child be all on her own? And suddenly, I wanted very badly to know the answers to those questions. Suddenly, I couldn't wait to meet the little boy or girl growing inside me.

I watched the mother and her daughter and thought, I can have that. I am going to have that. Someday, before long, I'll be feeding scraps of bread to the ducks with my own child and cherishing every moment of it.

Wow! I am going to have a baby. I whispered the words aloud. I am going to have a baby. And it was wonderful. I was flooded with joy, and it was pure. It wasn't colored by stress over the wedding plans, or Mrs. King's sometimes unnerving behavior or the contractor's latest blunder at the condo. The joy I felt had nothing at all to do with anyone but the baby and me. Not ever with Wade.

So what if I swelled to gigantic proportions? So what if my honeymoon was postponed for months or years? What did it matter that I might have to put my business on the back burner for a while? All that really matters, I realized, is what exists between my child and me. And what exists is love.

Suddenly I became aware, really aware, of the world around me—the slightly chilled April breeze, the squawking ducks, the giggling girl, the bright red of the early tulips. And I felt a deep sense of peace along with a great scene of excitement. Oddly, the feeling were thoroughly compatible. It was an epiphany, the moment at which I really accepted the fact that I was going to be a mother—a rare moment when I was still, quiet, and alone. But not really alone, I thought. Never really alone again.

We met at Velvet for a drink before going off to the Hunting Theatre to see a revival of Cat on A Hot Tin Roof. The outing had been my idea, but now I had little enthusiasm for light conversation or for dramatic performance.

The situation with Wade and the bedroom had really begun to worry me. I wanted to talk to my friends about the problem, but unlike Elise or Kristen, I rarely brought up the topic of sex; I never, ever talked about the particulars of my sex life. And whenever someone veered too close to sharing the particulars of her sex life. I found an excuse to leave the room. Some things are just meant to be private, like how much money you make, and what you eat straight from the carton when you're depressed and alone, and what you do or do not when your clothes are off.

I looked at my friends: Carrie was trying to engage Kristen in small talk; Jamie and Elise were having more luck with each other. So far no one had commented on my silence. Being pregnant, I thought, somehow excuses you from having to be properly social at all times. "Oh don't mind her. I know she's been kicking the leg of the table for the past ten minutes but you know, she pregnant.

The waiter brought us our drinks—a martini for Elise, champagne for Kristen, a light beer for Carrie, a Cosmo for Jamie and a cranberry juice with sparkling water for me. Well, I thought, at least my drink is the prettiest. Everyone took a first appreciative sip and I thought, maybe I'm being overly sensitive about Wade's lack of interest in sex. Maybe I have nothing to complain about in the end, as long as he isn't interested in having sex with some other woman, and I'm pretty sure he isn't. Still, I wanted Wade to be interested. I wanted to feel wanted. I wanted him to want me.

"Is a man ever really too tired for sex?" I blurted. Carrie's eyes widened, and Jamie cleared her throat, but I was undeterred. "I mean, if a man says, 'Not tonight honey, I'm tired,' is he lying?"

Elise nodded. "I'd say there's a good chance he's lying. It could be he's having an affair and doesn't want to waste his energy on you. It could be that he's caught an STD from his mistress. Or 'I'm too tired' might really mean he's been traumatized somehow and has lost total interest in sex and just the sight of your naked body causes his penis to deflate. Which could also mean that he's finally realized he's gay."

Carrie shook her head, clearly amazed. "Where," She asked no one in particular. "Does she get this stuff?"

"You should be writing for True Confessions with that imagination." I said.

"You asked my opinion."

"I think I want to hear another opinion."

"Well," Carrie said, "speaking as a woman who's been married for five years, I think it's perfectly valid for a man to be too tired for sex, just like it's valid for a woman to be too tired for sex. I mean, sometimes Ted has worked his usual shift and then overtime, and then he's had to take the truck to the shop or stop in to see his mother on the way home. She's not doing too, you know; she's diabetic. Anyway, some nights he practically crawls into bed. Some nights he's even too tired to eat dinner! I can't expect him to make love to me when he's been working so hard all day, can I?"

Elise sighed and looked at me as if to say, from what happy valley has this innocent sprung? "No offense, honey. But if you were Pamela Anderson he'd have the energy."

"That's mean." I said.

"That's reality."

Kristen, who had been silent until this point, now offered her opinion. "I don't believe the 'too tired' excuse is real for women, either. Be honest. When you say you're too tired to fool around, doesn't it really mean you're just not interested? I mean, how much energy does it take to just lie there? Which is really all you have to do to meet the minimum requirements."

I wondered, did Kristen really just lie there? I couldn't see it but then again, I really didn't want to.

Elise raised her eyebrows but wisely made no comment. "Brianne? What brought up this topic? Has Wade been failing to perform his marital duties?"

"We're not married yet." I pointed out. "And yes, Wade has been—failing to perform. Since I told him I was pregnant he's lost interest in sex. Sex with me, anyway. But he won't talk about it. He just avoids me, and when he can't avoid me he tells me he's tired. Really, how tired can he possibly be? He's not mining for coal twelve hours a day. He's not even in the corporate trenches. Not really. His poor assistant does an awful lot of his work."

"And." Kristen drawled. "Wade is in peak physical condition. I'm sure it's not as if he can't perform."

I shot a look at Kristen, who shrugged elaborately. "What? How can a woman help but notice that tight butt?"

"Just because you notice something doesn't mean you have to talk about it." Carrie said angrily. Then she blushed. "Not that I've ever noticed Wade, you know, in that way!"

"Anyway." Kristen went on, "a man who spends as much time as Wade does on his appearance wants the attention. He's not spending hours at the gym and watching his diet just for his health. He's doing it for the admiring glances of the ladies."

"And for his fiancée." I snapped.

Kristen looked at me and seemed surprised to learn I was still there. "Oh, sure. For her too."

Why am I friends with her, I wondered, not for the first time. Can I retract the invitation to the wedding? Can I send an invitation?

"Let's drop the subject."I said testily. It wasn't as if I was hearing any real and useful advice on how to deal with my libido less fiancé.

"I'm sure everything will be all right." Carrie said with a knowing pat on my arm.

Her condescension annoyed me even more than Kristen's hitherto unknown familiarity with the shape of my fiancé's butt. "Of course it will be all right." I snapped. "Everything's already all right. I shouldn't have said anything."

"Has anyone seen the new Baz Lurhman film?" Elsie asked brightly.

Jamie grabbed onto the new topic like a drowning woman grabbing for a life raft. "Yes, I have, have you? I've been dying to talk about it with someone."

They launched into an animated discussion about the movie; Carrie made small talk at Kristen, who didn't even pretend to listen; and I sulked. A fat lot of good it had done to ask for my girlfriends' advice. From now on, I vowed, I'm keeping my personal life personal.

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	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen:

Wade and I were spending a quiet night at home. Rather, at the half-finished condo that would be our home once we were married, once I had sold my own apartment on Roland Street. I'd told Wade that I'd spoken to several real estate agents about the listing but that was a lie. I'd put off making it official; the idea of selling my home made me sad. Besides, I told myself, the apartment was sure to sell immediately once it was on the market. There was no rush in listing it when the wedding was still months away.

After dinner, I loaded the dishwasher—that appliance had been hooked up the week before—and Wade leaned against the center island, watching me.

"I spoke with my mother today." He said.

"Oh? How is she?"

"Fine. She and Dad had dinner last night with the Cappadoras. She was all excited about telling Mrs. Cappadora she's going to be a grandmother. Maggie Cappadora is one of those professional grandmother types. Mom says she's always pulling out photos and report cards and bragging about how her grandchildren are the most perfect little angels."

"Oh." I said. I poured liquid detergent into its compartment and closed the door of the dishwasher. "That sounds annoying."

"By the way, my mother wants to know what the baby will be calling her."

I shrugged. "I don't , I guess."

"Isn't that usually what a kid calls his mother's mother?"

Was it? I'd mostly grown up without grandparents. All four had died before I was five. And for the life of me I couldn't remember what I'd called any of them.

"I'll ask my mother about it." I promised. I pushed start and the expensive, almost silent; Bosch began its wash cycle.

"She was thinking maybe Nana."

My distaste must have been all too obvious.

"You don't like Nana?" Wade asked.

"Not particularly." I admitted.

"Well, my mother really likes it. It's what she called her father's mother."

Then why ask my opinion, I wondered. If Wade and his mother had already made a decision, why bother with me?

"Fine."I said. "It doesn't really matter to me." But it will, I thought, if my mother decides she wants to be called Nana.

"Good. I'll tell her right away. I think she's having something engraved."

Wade went into the study to call his mother. I put away the dishcloth I'd been folding and walked to the giant window overlooking downtown Boston, now glittering in the night. And what, I wondered, would the baby call me? Mommy, of course. Maybe Mama. And later, when he or she grew older, Mom. Never, I hope, Ma or Mother. Mom. That was okay, wasn't it?

I thought back to my lunch with Carrie. I'll always be Brianne, I'd told her. Just Brianne. I wanted to believe that, but the truth was I was no longer sure that was possible. Standing at the window, looking out over the darkening city, it occurred to me that I'd never been known as anything but Brianne. I'd never even had a nickname. Even Wade rarely called me "honey" or "sweetie"

I was Brianne and now I was also going to be Mommy. The thought frightened me.

"She's thrilled." Wade was off the phone. He joined me at the window.

"Good."

"How are you feeling, Mommy?" He asked, putting an arm around my shoulder and a hand on my stomach.

"I think that I'm going to be sick."

Wade was meeting a friend from the gym for drinks and dinner; far preferring the specialty bed at the loft, he planned on going there afterward, not to my apartment. I felt antsy; I just couldn't stay home alone. I called Elise, who happened to be in the neighborhood, having just attended a yoga class.

"Sure, I'll meet you." She said. "I've done a healthy thing; now I'll have a drink and ruin all my good work."

We met twenty minutes later at a small local restaurant called Poodle. It was early; the place was otherwise empty.

"I thought pregnant women are supposed to be tired all the time." Elise commented, placing her yoga mat on the floor against the bar. "But these days you're hardly ever home."

"I'm going out on the town while I still can." I explained to her. "Frankly, I'm exhausted, and I'd love to just curl up in bed with a good book and be asleep by eight. But these are my last days of freedom. I want plenty of memories to cherish when I'm knee-deep in dirty diapers and hooked up to a breast pump."

"Ah, that does sound like the life!"

"Be careful." I warned. "It could happen to you."

Elise pretended to shudder. "I'll have a martini." She told the bartender. "A big one. Dry, two olives."

"You got it and you?" He asked me.

"I desperately want a cocktail." I said to Elise. You know before I couldn't drink I never felt that I needed a drink. Now, I feel like an alcoholic."

"It's all in your head." Elise informed me annoyingly. "We always want what we can't have."

"No kidding. I'll have a seltzer with lime, please." I told the bartender.

When our drinks arrived and after a toast that was half-hearted on my part, I said, so, entertain me. Allow me to live vicariously. Who are you dating?"

"Who says I'm dating anyone?"

"You're always dating someone." I pointed out. "And that's not meant as a criticism. So, who is he?"

"Actually, at the moment I'm not dating anyone. It's rather a relief, really. Of course, the offers are still coming in but I just don't have the energy to spare."

I shrugged. "The men will be there when you're ready to get back into the game."

"If I choose to get back in the game."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just that dating can be such a bore. And I'm not in the market for a husband, so what's the point of wasting all that precious time on someone who'll be in and out of my life—and my bed—within a month or two?'

"You're sounding cynical this evening." I commented. "Very world-weary, very fin de siècle. What about falling in love?"

Elise's answer was right on the tip of her tongue. "I won't be falling in love."

"How do you know?"

Elise carefully sipped her drink before answering. "I just do."

"Aren't you the woman who declared that the future is deliciously uncertain?"

"Yes. I'm that woman but our lives aren't entirely random. We do have some control over what happens to us."

"Like falling in love? But I thought you believed—"

"Let's change the topic, shall we?"

"Fine. I'll just have to read the tabloids for some vicarious excitement." I looked around before turning back to Elise. "I'll think I'll go home."

"But it's only seven thirty! Stay for just a bit. After all, this was your idea."

I picked up my purse. "If I hurry I can be in bed by eight. Goodnight, Elise. Don't stay out too late."

That evening, after leaving Elise alone at the bar, I went home and poked through some old cardboard boxes. As soon as I got my first apartment after college, my mother sent me three boxes filled with my childhood. And while I picked through ragged dolls and crayon drawings, I wondered, had I ever been young? Really young, wild and carefree and devil-may-care? Had I ever thrown caution to the wind and worn jeans without underwear and shown up for work with a hangover? Had I ever made out with a boyfriend in public or passed notes in class or snuck outside food into a movie theater? Had I ever shoplifted a piece of gum or walked on a lawn with a No Trespassing sign?

Of course not. I just wasn't a high spirited, devil-may-care person. In fact, more than once I'd been called an old soul but I'm not sure that was an accurate description. Didn't "old soul" imply a sort of ageless wisdom? I'd certainly never felt in the least bit wise.

I swept the loose photographs into a messy pile. Its okay, I told myself. Nobody wants you to be other than who you are. Nobody but you even suspects there's something more to Brianne Trufan. Nobody but you suspect there's anything wrong at all.

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	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty:

Elise and I met for a quick lunch the next afternoon at the Au Bon Pain on Newbury Street. I felt bad for having run out on her the night before'; beside, there was a new worry on my mind.

"Good afternoon, dear Brianne." She said when she swept into the storefront twelve minutes late. "I trust you got lots of sleep last night, although I must say you don't look very rested. And isn't it a beautiful day?"

"It's okay." I replied, stirring the broccoli soup I'd gotten while waiting for my friend to show up. Surprisingly, that week I could eat broccoli with no problem, but crackers made me queasy. "And no, I didn't get lots of sleep because the phone rang at eleven last night and I was stupid enough to pick it up."

"So, does this late-night phone call have anything to do with why you're so glum?" Elise took the seat across from me, undeterred by my grumpy answer.

"You don't want to know. Really, you'll be bored."

"Probably." Elise admitted. "But we're friends. Remember, we have the right to bore each other now and then."

"You've never bored me."

Elise unfolded her napkin and placed it on her lap. "I'm saving the boring stories for when we're creaky old ladies with blue hair and stockings rolled to our knees."

"If I ever wear stockings rolled to my knees, put me out of your misery."

Elise raised her right hand as if to pledge." It's a promise. Now, what's going on?"

"My mother." I said. "Assumes she's hosting the baby shower."

"What happened to the wedding shower?"

"That's what I'd like to know. It seems the bride has taken the backseat to the baby. But that's the least of my problems right now. Carrie has offered to host the baby shower, too. I can't have two baby showers. Well, I suppose I could, if my mother invited one group of people to her party and Carrie invited another group to hers, but I don't want to have to endure two baby showers. I can barely wrap my mind around one."

Elise shrugged. "So, tell your mother or Carrie thanks but no thanks."

"I can't do that." I protested. "My mother would be devastated."

"You mean she'd be pissed off and you're afraid of standing up to her and making her really listen to you for the first time in your life."

"Right." There really was no point in arguing that truth. "And I can't say no to Carrie because she sounded so excited, and I know she loves to host adult-only parties and hardly ever has the chance since having the three kids."

"Brianne." Elise pronounced, "You're a wimp. You're putting your friend's feelings above your own."

"I prefer to think of myself as a generous person."

"Self-effacing." Elise corrected. "Remember, Brianne, this is your baby shower. A party in your honor shouldn't be something inflicted upon you. It should be something you want and will enjoy."

"I suppose I could suggest they share the hostess duties."

"You know as well as I do that won't work. Your mother and Carrie hardly know each other. And your mother, well, she's not the easiest person to get along with. Even Carrie might be tempted to strangle her."

"My mother is strong willed." I corrected, warningly. "That's all. Beside, you've only met her once and she wasn't' in the best of moods that day. She'd only come into the city for a sale at Lord & Taylor, but when she got to the store she couldn't find anything she wanted to buy. It set her off."

"Did I say anything nasty about your mother?"

"No, not really." I admitted. "But you were thinking it. I just wish there were a clear, incontrovertible reason for choosing one hostess over the other."

"There is a clear, incontrovertible reason." Elise said. "Your mother comes first. She has priority. Why? Because she gave birth to you, and so until the day she dies you owe her your life."

I wondered, years from now, would my daughter resent everything I said or did, no matter how altruistic my motives? Probably."

"Is there another clear, incontrovertible choice?" I asked.

"In my opinion, yes. You're an adult. Your mother treated you like a child, like someone who has no opinions or right of her own, by assuming you'd want her to give you a baby shower. Carrie, on the other hand, treated you like an adult for whom she has respect. She asked if you would like her to host your baby shower. I'd reward the person who considered me as an equal. I'd accept Carrie's offer."

"I'll think about it." I said. Elise had a point. She always does. "Anyway, I suppose I should be grateful my mother is showing any interest in my life at all. Generally speaking she's a devoted proponent of laissez-faire parenting."

"Let's talk about something else." Elise said brightly. "How's the wedding shower shaping up?"

""You are a troublemaker."

"And you're pathologically afraid of causing trouble. We won't have to eat cucumber sandwiches, will we?"

"At the wedding shower?"

"At either shower."

"I like cucumber sandwiches. But no, we won't."

"Good. So what about the bachelor party?"

The question took me by surprise. "I don't know. Wade hasn't mentioned a bachelor party. I kind of forgot about the men."

"Of course you did. Weddings are all about women. The men are merely accessories."

"I'll ask Wade if his brother is organizing a party. I can't imagine the Barrett boys at a strip club. They really are like the Crane brothers, you know. Maybe they'll go to a steak house for dinner."

"I thought Wade doesn't pollute his body with red meat."

"He doesn't." I said. "Not often. But I think most steak houses offer a broiled fish these days."

Elise grinned. "Well, maybe Rob will hire a private stripper to go along with after dinner cigars and brandy. Wait, does Wade drink brandy?"

Wade's drinking brandy wasn't the question. Wade's getting a lap dance was. He didn't seem at all like the type to appreciate a stripper, even a highly paid one. His father, on the other hand, did seem like the type. His brother, I thought, could go either way. If turning down a lap dance meant ridicule from the father, them Rob would say, "Bring it on!" and probably burn his trousers afterward.

"Brianne?" Elise's voice startled me back to the moment. "Did you hear me? Does Wade drink brandy? Or is he on a strictly oxygenized water diet until the wedding?"

"Of course he drinks brandy." I snapped. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap."

"It's the idea of Wade getting a lap dance, isn't it? Don't worry, honey. I'd bet my last dime against that ever happening."

"It's a good thing Wade would refuse a lap dance." I pointed out. "You make it sound like a character flaw."

"Not at all. I think with Wade there are certain things you can count on, like his being faithful."

Had Elise finally seen the light? "I've been telling you that Wade is a good person."

"It's not that he's a good person." Elise shot back. "It's that he doesn't like mess. Cheating is messy. It's too haphazard for his taste."

"You'll never like Wade, will you?"

Elise shrugged. "Probably not. But he'll probably never like me, either. Our mutual dislike cancels itself out."

"That makes no sense." I said. "Besides, have you ever considered how hard it is for me to live with the fact that my fiancé and my best friend hate each other? It's very awkward, you know."

"I know, and I'm sorry, Brianne. I'd like Wade if I could. It'd be easier on me too. We three could be all chummy and cozy and take vacations together and—"

"Don't be like that." I snapped. "There's no need."

Elise grimaced; she looked contrite but how could I be sure? "I'm sorry, Brianne. Really sometimes I'm a jackass, I know. I wish I knew why."

I do too, I thought. But I said, just a bit stiffly. "It's okay. Thanks for the advice about the shower."

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	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One:

"You know who I think is cute?" Carrie looked around the large round table at Tiger with bright-eyed expectation. "Orlando Bloom. I just think he's so adorable! Don't you think so, Brianne?"

It was the last time the five of us—Carrie, Jamie, Elise, Kristen and I—would be together at one table. Had I known what was going to happen, would I have put an end to that silly chatter right then? Would have, should have, could have. There's just no benefit to that kind of thinking.

"I'm going to be a mother soon." I pointed out. "I'm almost a married woman. I feel silly taking about what celebrity I have a crush on. It's, I don't know, unseemly."

"Well." Carrie replied briskly, "I don't feel silly and I don't think it's unseemly, and I'm a wife and mother. So there."

"Unseemly? Oh please, Brianne." Elise laughed. "Carrie's right, you don't always have to be Miss Propriety. Come on, tell us. Who would you like to fool around with? Who would be your free pass once you tie the knot?"

Carrie was looking at me eagerly now. Jamie betrayed a wry but amused smile. Well, I thought, what harm would it really do engage in a little game with my girlfriends? As long as Wade didn't find out. "Hair Guy." I said promptly.

"Who?" Kristen inquired. Her tone suggested she'd been forced to pick up a particularly slimy worm with her teeth.

"Hair Guy." I repeated. "You know, from Queen Eye for the Straight Guy."

Elsie shook her head. "Poor Brianne. First and second and third: He's gay. You can't have sex with him?"

"In my fantasies I can do whatever I want." I protested. "He's very good-looking. He has wonderful muscles. He's the only man I've ever seen who looks truly good in a sleeveless T-shirt."

"Well, I'll give you that." Carrie said, laughing, "Have you seen him doing push-ups? By the way, Brianne, his name is Kyan Douglas and I think he's called Grooming Guy, not Hair Guy."

Kristen grimaced. "Just how much time do you spend watching television?" She asked Carrie. "Well, I suppose when you don't have a job…"

"Personally," Carrie said, undeterred. "I'm partial to Ted Allen, the Food and Wine Guy. He's so sophisticated and witty. I mean, Ted's a wonderful husband, but he's hopeless in the kitchen. If he could just spend an afternoon with Ted, he'd be perfect. Maybe he'd stop buying cheese in a plastic tube.

Not for the first time I thought, Yes, Wade and Ted are not meant to be friends.

Jamie laughed. "Enough with the men we really, really can't have. What about heterosexual men? What about the men we can't have because they're celebrities and we're nobodies? Nobodies with average bodies and no money for serious couture and daily visits to the spa."

"That's easy." Carrie said. My friend, I realized, had played this game before. "George Clooney."

Elise groaned. "Of course! Everybody says George Clooney!"

"Have you seen him in Ocean's Eleven?" Carrie demanded. "The scene where he and Matt Damon are breaking into the vault? Did you get a good look at those arms?"

Chris Noth was Jamie's hands-down choice, as Mr. Big or as himself, whoever that is.

"Kristen." I said, although the look on her face made it clear she thought our fluffy conversation beneath her. "What about you? Who would be your free pass?"

"Do I really have to pick just one? How dull. Leave me out of this." She took a sip of her drink and then said. "Elise, what about you?"

Elise leaned back and crossed her legs. "Oh, I don't know." She drawled. "Let me see. Russell Crowe is attractive. And I wouldn't kick Robert DeNiro out of bed for eating crackers. But if I have to pick just one I'll say Benicio Del Toro."

Kristen rolled her eyes magnificently. "He's far too bulky."

"To bulky for what?" Elise snapped. "Your taste? Well, then it's a good thing he's my free pass and not yours."

"I prefer slim men." Kristen said her voice suddenly husky. "The essential thing about slim men is that there's nothing in the way of what's important."

"What's that?" Carrie asked, without a trace of self-consciousness.

Kristen directed her words to Carrie, whose cheeks grew increasingly red. "Isn't it obvious? When a man has a fat stomach or is too pumped, the package isn't quite as accessible. It's not as pow, right out there, in your face—or wherever—like it is on a man built like Ashton Kutcher or Brad Pitt or Jude Law. And let's be honest." She added looking around the table. "Men are good for one thing and one thing only. Sex. Otherwise, they're entirely disposable."

"You're a bit of freak show, you know that?" Elise's assessment came shooting like a bullet from a gun.

Kristen shrugged. "If it makes you happy to think so. I just know what I like. A slim man with a big package he knows how to use. A man who does his job and then leaves before he can open his mouth and bore me. A man who knows his place."

No one said anything for a moment. And then Elise opened her mouth. "If I were you and thank God I'm not, I'd keep those particular ideas concerning the male population from the people at the adoption agency. They're not going to be real enthusiastic about giving a child to someone who considers almost half of the human race disposable."

Oh, no I thought. Elise's gone and done it now.

Kristen seemed to morph from a human female into some magnificent beast. Honestly, it was like watching a cobra raising its jeweled head. I half expected to see a forked tongue come flickering from Kristen's mouth and venom spew from her jaws.

"I doubt." She said acidly. "That you even remember what a man looks like, you dried-up old bag."

Carrie hunched as if afraid of blows. Jamie shot me a look that begged. Do something! But I had no idea what to do. Except wait for Elise's response.

"At least." She said finally, every word delivered with careful deliberation. "I don't have to pay for someone's love. How is the adoption process going , anyway?"

Suddenly, I felt nauseous. Angry confrontations always make me physically ill. Kristen's face was flushed with what I assumed was rage. She grabbed her purse from beside her drink and stood. She glared down at me and I could see her struggling to control a fit of trembling. "You might try to muzzle your friend when you let her out of her cage." She spat. And then she was gone.

No one spoke for a long moment. Finally, Carrie erupted. "That was horrid, Elise!"

"I know. I'm sorry said it. Really. I just—Aargh! She makes me so mad! And how does she know anything about personal life? It so happens I had a date just two nights ago."

"That's not the point." I said. "Okay, Kristen was way out of line but that was reason for you to retaliate the way you did. She's very vulnerable about the adoption."

"Are you saying I shouldn't defend myself?" Elise demanded. "That I should just turn the other cheek?"

"You should always try to take the high road." Carrie murmured.

Jamie folded her arms across her chest. Was she afraid she'd poke Elise? "Defending yourself isn't the same as offending against your enemy. Don't pretend you don't know that."

Elise sighed heavily. "Look, I promise to apologize the next time I see her. Which may be never because I can't subject myself to another girls' night out if she's included."

Not a problem, I thought. Because I'm going to make very sure you and Kristen are never invited to the same event.

"Can we salvage what's left of the evening?" Jamie asked briskly. "Or should we all just go home?"

There was a moment of silence.

"Well." Carrie said finally. "Ted's not expecting me until eleven."

We all looked at Elise.

"I'll stay for another drink." She said, a bit sheepishly. "If you'll me let me."

"Of course we'll let you." I replied. "But you're buying next round. Pretend we sued for pain and suffering and won."

Elise smiled. "Deal."

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	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two:

"I don't know why you just don't join Netflix." Elise handed me the DVD of Robert Altman's Gosford Park. "Keep it as long as you want."

"Thanks." I said and put it on top of the TV, VCR, DVD player set-up. "And I don't join Netflix because I don't watch that many movies. It doesn't make economic sense for me."

Elise had stopped by my apartment on her way home from a meeting at a client's house in Brookline. It was a few days after the debacle at Tiger; neither of us had mentioned it since, although I'd been thinking about it all right.

Elise rolled her eyes dramatically. "Whatever, Miss Skinflint."

"I'm not cheap." I protested. "I'm just cautious about spending my hard-earned money. Most of the time."

"Well, you're certainly not opposed to splitting a bill even if you've only had an appetizer and I've had a steak, so I guess I should keep my mouth shut."

"Thank you. I'd appreciate it. Can you stay for a drink?"

Elise checked her watch and shrugged. "Sure. Just one, though. I've got Prizzi's Honor at home and I'm dying to watch it. I've never seen it, can you imagine?"

I fixed a vodka martini for Elise and a seltzer with line for me and put out a bowl of cashews. Elise, I often thought, would be addicted to cashews, if you could be addicted to a nut.

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you." I said as I sat on the couch.

"Shoot. Mmm. You do make a mean martini."

"Thanks. Anyway, why do you find Kristen's attitude toward men so personally offensive? I've heard you say mean things about men. About men and sex."

"Not mean things, Brianne." She corrected. "True things. But to answer your question about why I find Kristen's opinions so offensive, it's because I like men. Not every individual man of course but I like men the same as I like women. I can't write off almost half of the human race just because they pee standing up. That's sexism."

Yes, it was sexism, but I wasn't buying Elise's easy answer. Something else had to account for her genuine regard for men. She certainly hadn't gotten that from her father. And she had no brother. I wondered. There must have been a significant man somewhere along the line, someone special.

"So, who is he?" I asked. "Or who was he?"

"Who?"

"The man." I said. "There had to be someone special in your life, someone who, I don't' know, made you forgiving of me the way you're forgiving of women." A kindly uncle, I thought. Or a dynamic college professor, someone who made men real, the way I suppose my brother had made men real for me.

"There was no man." She snapped. But Elise often snapped; it didn't scare me off at all.

"Oh, come on." I said, teasingly. "What are you hiding? Tell me about the mysterious man lurking in the shadows of your life."

"I'm not hiding anything." She said promptly. "There's something I choose not to reveal. Anyway, why should I talk about something that's been over for years?"

It was challenge. I took it. I'm not sure why. "Because it's not really over?"

Elise's normally pale face grew red. She more than blushed' she flushed so dark I was almost afraid. What had I done? Why hadn't I kept my mouth shut? Why had I demanded she talk about something she didn't want to talk about? It wasn't like me to provoke.

"I'm sorry." I said reaching across the couch for her arm. "You don't have to talk about whatever it is. I shouldn't have.."

But Elise moved away from my gasp and took a deep breath. I watched as her usual calm and paleness returned.

"Okay, Brianne. You asked for it. You want the truth, you'll get the truth. Just know that from this point on you're going to look at me differently. You're going to see some sad, romantic fool, living among the ashes of her one great love. You'll lose all respect for me and then you'll start to pity me and before long, our friendship will be over. Dead."

"What are you talking about?" I asked. What, I wondered, was happening in my living room? "Why would our friendship be over?"

"Because you won't want to spend time with swooning, pitiful idiot, and I'll know you never understood what happened to me in the first place and I'll be too angry and embarrassed to want to spend time with you."

"For God's sake, Elise." I cried. "Just tell me what happened." And then I took a deep breath. "Look, you know what, maybe you shouldn't tell me anything after all, okay? I'm sorry I pried. I didn't' mean to bring up a sore subject. Really."

"It's too late for retreat." She said steadily. "Here it is, Brianne. I'm in love with someone I can't have, okay? I'm in love with someone I haven't seen in years. How's that? Wait, it gets better. I'm in love with someone I'm pretty sure loathes and despises me. I'm in love with someone I never wanted to hurt but who I wound up hurting very badly in the end."

"Oh." I said.

Elise took a long sip of her drink before going on. "And none of it will go away. The memories bombard me every day. The dreams haunt me every night. You know, Brianne, if I close my eyes I can still see every inch of his skin. I can hear his voice. He's very real to me, Brianne. He's a living memory."

"I don't know what to say." I admitted. "What happened? Why aren't you together?"

Elise laughed bitterly. "He was married, Brianne. He's still married."

The notion of my self-respecting friend breaking one of the cardinal rules of self-respecting behavior stunned me. It must have been all over my face.

"I know what you're thinking." Elise said. "You're thinking I don't seem like the type to get involved with a married guy. I'm too strong and too smart."

"Yes. I guess I was."

"Love doesn't have a lot to do with intelligence."

"How did it start?"

"We met about seven years ago when we were both doing some volunteer work for the MFA. I knew he was married. He wore a ring, he made mention of his wife in conversation like any normal person. I liked him immediately but I had no thoughts of falling in love. Who in her right mind would choose to pursue a situation bound to end in disaster?"

"I don't know. No one I guess."

"Before long, we found ourselves becoming friends."

"How did it change?"

"Naturally. Things changed naturally and imperceptibly. Honestly, Brianne, at first I thought I could handle just being friends. So did he. But then we just kept growing closer and then it was too late to walk away from each other. We had to be together.. It was inevitable and it was wonderful. I'd met my soul mate and he'd met his."

Elise finished her drink and carefully set the empty glass on the coffee table. "We were happy together. But the entire situation was bad. It tore him apart to be cheating on his wife. And frankly, I felt horrible being the other woman. Finally, the guilt just ate us up. He couldn't leave his wife or kids and I couldn't bear being with him but not really with him. So, I ended it."

"I see. "I said. But I didn't see, not at all.

"And I got married."

"You what?" I cried. "I can't believe you never told me any of this! You're not still married are you? Are you keeping your husband a secret?"

"Of course not. It didn't work. We got divorced. I wasn't in the marriage for the right reasons."

"Oh," I said. "Okay, I mean, I'm sorry."

"So now, here I am. I married a man I didn't love and I'm in love with a man who's married to another woman."

"But you date."

"I don't really enjoy dating, you know. But it does get me out to some good restaurants. And if keeps people from making assumptions about my sexual preference."

I opened my mouth to make some sound of protest but Elise cut me off. "And don't try to tell me that someday I'll get over him and fall in love again and get married and live happily ever after, because you're telling me that would mean you have absolutely no understanding of who I am. Of who I really am. Okay?"

"Okay. I'll respect you for being who you are. I'll respect your love for this person."

"Who will remain nameless. So don't bother to ask. You wouldn't know him anyway."

Was she relieved to have told me her secret? Or disappointed that she'd broke her vow of silence? I studied my friend without seeming to. Suddenly, Elise seemed a stranger to me. I didn't want her to remain stranger.

"Elise. What if, I mean, do you ever wonder what you would do if he suddenly showed up on your doorstep? If he said he was divorced and wanted you to be together again?"

Elise stood and gathered her bag and portfolio. "It will never happen. And if it did happen I know exactly what I would do. I would go with him. Now, promise me you'll never mention this whole thing again. I can't stand talking about it. I don't' want it coloring my friendship with you anymore than it already has."

I walked Elise to the door. "Okay, but if you ever want—"

"I won't. But thanks. And listen. If you ever feel for someone one-tenth of what I feel for this man, don't let him get away, Brianne. Don't. Oh enjoy the movie."

Before I could reply Elise was gone.

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	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three:

"Oh, Wade." I said, "I'm not really in the mood for a party right now."

"It's not until Saturday."

"By 'right now' I mean for the next eight months."

"Oh come one Brianne." He said "That's ridiculous."

"No, it's not ridiculous." I replied petulantly. I felt horrible. The day had started bad and gotten worse. The left heel of my favorite day pumps broke off. A client called to say she'd changed her mind about the theme of her fiftieth birthday party and asked if I'd mind starting the job from scratch. From a topical paradise to an ice palace, in two weeks? I estimated another twenty or so billable hours, which was nice in one way and terrible in another. And the morning sickness had been particularly violent. I'd hardly been able to think about food since seven a.m., let alone eat it. I wondered if pregnant women could be fed intravenously for the duration.

"But you have to come with me, Brianne." Wade said with a hint of a whine. "It's a very important party and some very important people are going to be there. You just have to be there with me."

"But Wade." I began.

"You need to remember Brianne that it looks good for me to be there with my wife. My soon-to-be-wife. In my line of work, well, it's like being a politician. A politician needs his spouse at his side, doing and saying the right thing. He needs to know he can trust her. He needs to know she'll always support him and put on a good face even when things get rough. Do you understand?"

I understood. I understood that I was considered a piece of arm candy, an accoutrement, a tasteful accessory. What else did Wade consider me? His better half? The ball and chain? She Who Must Be Obeyed?

"Okay." I said, defeated. "I'll go."

"Great." He said. "Maybe you'll even grab a new client."

The last thing I needed at that moment was a new client. What I needed was another set of hands, a long nap, and a personal stylist to make me fit for public consumption.

That Saturday night, in spite of having no personal Pilates coach or devoted makeup artist or live-in seamstress, I managed to pull together a decent outfit: a champagne-colored brocade evening coat over a simple pair of pearl gray silk pants and a matching tank.

The moment we arrived at the party Wade abandoned me to speak with one of the Important People he'd told me would be there. And there I was, vulnerable to the force who is Brie Del Rio, the suspiciously enthusiastic wife of one of Wade's business associates. The Del Rios have one child, a boy. At the time of the party he was almost a year old and properly at home with the live-in nanny while his mommy was charging right at me, a squealing missile seeking its target.

"What's this I hear about you and Wade having a baby? Congratulations! Good work!"

"Thanks." I said. As if getting pregnant is a big accomplishment. Which, I guess, for some people it is.

"So," Brie went on, poking me lightly in the arm. "I imagine you'll take a leave of absence from the business right? I'm sure your partner can handle things while you're gone."

"I don't have a partner."

"Oh, well, then, a fabulous assistant, someone who can keep things afloat in the office while you're home with the baby. Because, trust me, once you see that adorable little face you'll never want to go back to work."

I smiled and tittered, although what I really wanted to do was wipe the smug, mother-knows-best smile off Brie's face. So, what if I didn't have a business partner? So what if I chose to keep overhead low by not hiring a fabulous full-time assistant? Those were my choices. And I'd been doing just fine until I got pregnant.

What if Brie's right? I wondered. What if I take one look at the baby and decide I don't want to go back to work ever again? Wait a minute, I thought. Ever again? That's crazy! What happens when the baby goes off to college and I've got nothing to do but room an empty house and make unnecessary care packages my child is only going to sell to her roommate or dump in the trash?

Calm down, Brianne. I scolded. Take a deep breath. Maybe Wade's idea of a sabbatical is a good one after all. Maybe I should put Brianne's Occasions on hiatus, just until the baby goes to school. Even if it means losing the clientele I've worked so hard to acquire.

"If you'll excuse me." I lied. I just wanted to get away from her.

"Have to pee?" Brie winked. "No need for apologies, Brianne. Pregnancy is all about peeing!"

I grimaced and back away. This party, I thought, cannot get any worse. And then, of course, it did.

Elise appeared from the crowd. She looked wonderful, but her expression was slightly tentative. It was the first time I'd seen her since she'd told me about her Mystery Lover. I'd vowed not to let that new information interfere in our relationship. I'd vowed never to say a word about it.

"There you are." She said. "I've been looking for you. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me."

"Of course not." I told her. "And I wish you had found me ten minutes ago. I was stuck with that awful Brie Del Rio. What's up?"

Elsie nodded curtly toward the far end of the crowded loft space. "Honey, I hate to be the bearer of distressing news, but your so-called friend Kristen is flirting up a storm with your fiancé."

"Oh, come on!" I protested, although actually I had no doubt Elise was telling the truth. Elise isn't purposely cruel. And Kristen? Well, rumor had it she'd broken up a marriage or two in her time. Elise gave me an appraising look, head to foot. "What?"

"I'd get over there now if I were you."

"I trust Wade." I said. And I did, as far as I'd ever trusted a man with whom I'd been involved.

"There's trust." Elise replied. "And there's stupidity. Wade is only human, Brianne. And I'm pretty sure Kristen isn't' only human. But hey, if you're confident he's got the stuff to repel the advances of a gorgeous woman, that's just fine."

I considered. I was moody and bloated. Wade and I hadn't had sex in weeks. And Kristen was wearing a pencil skirt that hugged every perfect curve and a pair of stiletto pumps that drew lots and lots of attention to her long, long legs.

"I'll be back." I muttered.

"Take your time." Elise said as I stalked off. "And don't damage the ring when you slap her across the face."

The fury built as I made my way through the crowded room. I don't know when I'd ever felt so angry. Easy, Brianne, I told myself. If your blood pressures soars, the baby's will too. Kristen saw me coming and slipped away into the crowd surrounding the bar. I followed her as best I could but lost her almost immediately. I wouldn't have been surprised to learn she'd perfected the art of evading angry wives and girlfriends.

Fine, I thought. If I can't confront the temptress I'll confront the temptee. I found Wade staring longingly at the Hathaway's state-of-the-art home entertainment center. He looked like a worshipper at a shrine. I almost hated to bother him. "Wade." I tapped him on the shoulder.

"Brianne." He said, "I didn't see you."

"I know. Wade, there's something I have to ask you."

"Wait." He said. "I've got something to tell you first."

"But—"

"Please, Brianne." He said taking my hand. "This is important. I don't want that Newman woman hanging around our house. She'll be a bad influence on the baby."

I struggled to hide a grin of pleasure. At least, I thought, I can trust my fiancé if not my friend. "Why?"

Wade frowned slightly. He never frowns mightily, I thought. He never smiles broadly. He never laughs loudly. Okay, I've seen him cry, but only once. Only once in almost a year. "She actually had the nerve to hit on me. Can you believe it? With the mother of my child in the same room. I'm sorry, Brianne, I know you two are friends—"

"Not anymore." I replied firmly. "That bitch is dead to me."

"Language, honey. Look, try not to get too upset, okay?" Wade's face took on a practiced expression of mild concern. "It can't be good for the baby."

He really could have been a model, I thought. He's mastered the basic facial expressions. Standard concern. Standard pleasure. Standard interest. I wondered why I was suddenly so mad at Wade. He'd done nothing wrong. Nothing at all. My feelings were irrational, misplaced. I should have been angry with Kristen and I was, I was furious with her. But… It's the hormones, I reasoned, although I didn't quite believe myself.

Wade's voice penetrated my troubled thoughts. "Honey? You look like you're a million miles away. What were you going to ask me?"

I shook my head. "Oh, nothing. Never mind. Wade, I'd like to go home now. I'm feeling kind of tired."

Wade immediately hurried off to find my jacket and to say goodbye to the hosts. Maybe, I thought as I watched him go, I should just run away. After I confronted Kristen.

Within minutes of our getting to the loft, Wade was stretched out in bed, sleeping deeply. But two hours later I was still wide awake and resenting him for the ease with which he could tune out the world and its woes. I should have gone home, I thought grumpily, readjusting the covers for the millionth time. I would have been able to sleep in my own bed. My old, familiar, discount furniture store bed. Not the insanely expensive designer bed that Wade had picked out for its superior ergonomic qualities.

Why am I here? I wondered. It isn't as if Wade and I are going to have sex. No, I'm too fat and grotesque for that, I'm too precious for that. I'm too much of a mommy. I turned on my side, hoping a change of scenery would lead to a change in mental obsession. It didn't. I wasn't sorry I'd called Kristen a bitch. Kristen deserved to be called a lot worse. And after I'd opened up to my friends about Wade's lack of interest in sex! Oh, Kristen must have loved hearing that, I thought, fuming. What's she after? Wade's sperm? His money? His hand in marriage?

I looked over at my sleeping fiancé. My sleeping, oblivious fiancé. And then it came to me, just like that, why I was so angry with Wade. Something about his response to Kristen's attempted pickup was all wrong. Was Wade really bothered y Kristen's flirtation or by the fact that I was the vicinity of her sexual advance? The mother of his child. The vessel in which his precious seed had been deposited. The receptacle in which the fruit of his loins had taken up residence. If the mother of his child hadn't been in the same room, would Wade have gone off with Kristen Newman for a little on-the-side action?

Of course he would have. Of course he wouldn't have. It didn't make a difference. Because I didn't figure in the equation at all. Not really. It was all about Wade's baby, and only as the carrier of his baby did I count. I took a deep breath and wished I knew some calming yoga techniques. Maybe, I thought, I am being oversensitive, a classic trait of the Hormonal Woman. Maybe to preserve my nerves I should stay away from parties and other large groups until after the baby is born.

I glanced at the bedside digital clock. Two-thirty a.m. I knew I should try to get some sleep. But the truth was I was afraid to close my eyes. The dreams would come that night, I just knew it. Choking, blindness, and violence.

Was there any way to avoid them?

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	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four:

"Coming, coming!" I flung open the door to the building, expecting to see my friend covered in blood or otherwise in distress. "Gosh, Elise, I can only run down so far. What's the crisis?" Elise wasn't covered in blood, but she did look different somehow. Was she taller? I looked down at her feet. No, the heels were her usual.

"I have something to tell you." She said, barely suppressing a giddy grin. "You're not going to believe it. I hardly believe it myself."

"Welcome upstairs and tell me." I closed the door and followed her up to my apartment. "I'm guessing it's not something bad. That grin reaches from ear to ear."

"No, it's not something bad. It's something wonderful."

We went into my apartment and I closed the door. "Let me catch my breath and then you can tell me."

"I have my breath. I'm telling you right now. The man I told you about. The one I was—"

I raised my hand. "There's no need to specify. How could I possibly forget?"

"He called me last night. I saw him this morning. We met for coffee."

"Wow." I said. It was the last piece of news I'd ever expected to hear. "That is a headline. So, where do I begin? I have a million questions."

"Start with the most obvious."

"Okay. Why did he call after all this time? No, wait." I said. "If we're going to talk about this I really need to know his name. I'm tired of thinking of him as your Mystery Lover."

Elise seemed to find this inordinately funny. When she finally stopped laughing, she said. "His name is Chris Irvine. And he called because he's free. We can be together."

"He got a divorce after all?" I asked, shocked. "Oh, don't tell me his wife died."

"She didn't die." Elise replied. "I'm not a ghoul. I wouldn't be grinning over someone's untimely death. She asked Chris for a divorce."

"Oh and he said yes?"

"Yes. He moved out of their house last week."

And he immediately called Elise. There was something unseemly about the situation. "Well, he didn't waste any time, did he?"

"Enough time has been wasted. No, more."

I wondered, did I have the nerve-or the right-to ask my friend if she thought the love of her life had acted like a coward by staying in a marriage when he was in love with another woman.

"So, for all those years he couldn't leave her." I said tentatively.

"He wouldn't leave her." Elise corrected. "He made an active choice to stay with his family."

"Okay but now when she decides to leave him…" I stopped. What was my point?

"What's your point?" Elise asked.

"Nothing I guess. I'm just trying to get my head around this. I'm stunned. I think I'm happy for you. I know I'm scared for you."

"I know you are. I would be for you, too. Happy but concerned. Thank you, Brianne."

"You're welcome. But are you sure don't want to think about this a bit before getting back together?"

"You don't turn away love." Elise said definitively. "You don't turn away your soul mate. It doesn't matter how we're together, Brianne just that we are."

"You're in for a long haul of divorce and step-parenting." I said. "His kids might hate you. They might have him if-when-they find out he cheated on their mother. Loyalty to the mother is a very strong emotion."

I automatically put my hand on my stomach and spoke silently to the baby: I will fight to the death for you, Little One. Just love me in return.

"I know, Brianne." Elise said. "But nothing can be worse than being without him. Look, I thought he hated me. I thought I'd hurt him beyond repair."

"Didn't he hurt you beyond repair?" Had I not understood anything?

Elise answered promptly. "No. He didn't hurt me. Life did. His intentions were never bad. Mine might have bee, when I married Justin."

"What do you mean?" I asked. Just listening to Elise's story was exhausting. How had she carried the burden of her past for so long without breaking?

"Nothing." She said. "I take that back. I never really wanted to hurt to Chris. Not really. Maybe just a little bit. A therapist would say it was understandable, but I'm not proud of my behavior. I've forgiven myself for agreeing to marry Justin, but I'm still paying the price. Memory is a harsh reality."

"You could try to forget."

Elise ignored the remark. "I have these flashes of memory. Just horrible blinding flashes and I feel so deeply ashamed and humiliated."

"Humiliated?" My stomach sank. "Oh, Elise, Justin didn't hit you, did he?"

"No, no. The marriage wasn't abusive or even miserable, but it didn't have to be. It was just wrong. Let me tell you something Brianne. There are few personal experiences worse than waking up next to someone you don't love but have pledged to love. It's jail; it's a prison. It kills your soul. And it's completely unfair to both people."

"Oh." I said after moment. "Okay." I suddenly felt defensive; why did Elsie think I needed to know that? "I'm trying to understand. Why, exactly did you marry this Justin?"

Elise sighed. "Because I wanted to save myself. After two years of torture with Chris, I wanted to give myself a normal life. Do you understand?"

"Yes." I said. I did understand. By marrying Wade I was hoping to embark on a normal, stable journey through the rest of my life. I decided then not to ask Elise if she'd been in love with Justin.

"What was I thinking?" Elise now spoke more to herself than me. "I must have been temporarily insane. But enough of the past. I've been given this chance—I don't know why I've been given it, but I'm thrilled—and I'm frightened—I could—I feel—"

"You're crying." I said. I'd never seen my friend cry. Not even at the funeral of a thirty-four-year-old colleague who'd died the previous year of breast cancer. It made me uncomfortable somehow. It made me feel that everything was suddenly changing. If I couldn't count on Elise to be who I thought she was, what could I count on?

And that selfish thought frightened me, too. Was I so immature?

"I'm crying." Elise said and she sounded proud. "It's not the first time and it won't be the last. Welcome to the wonderful chaos of life!"

"I'm not sure why we have to do this." I said.

Wade was leaning languidly in the doorway to my bedroom; I was finishing dressing. "Because we're all going too related in a few months. We're going to be family. And with the baby coming, it's very important the grandparents get to know each other better."

I wasn't at all convinced it was important for my parents to know Wade's parents any better than they did. To date they'd met only once, right after Wade and I got engaged. Mr. and Mrs. Barrett had hosted a small party at their home and in spite of the champagne toast and shrimp wrapped in bacon, the evening was less than successful. Some might even have called it a disaster. When Mrs. Barrett proudly showed Wade's baby pictures, my father yawned loudly in her face. When Mr. Barrett gallantly complemented my mother's dress, she told him it was about to go into the garbage, ("Mom," I said later, "you implied that Wade's parents aren't good enough for one of your new dresses." My mother replied. "Whatever. I can't be responsible for how people interpret everything I say. You don't want the dress do you? If not, it's in the trash.")

"Are you almost done?" Wade's voice broke through my unpleasant memories. "We'll be late if we don't leave in the next five minutes. And you know my father hates people to be late."

Four minutes later we were in the backseat of Wade's company car, being driven to the new and well-reviewed Cashmere. On the way, I told Wade about Elise and Chris. Elise hadn't asked me to keep it a secret. But Wade was my fiancé and there's an unwritten rule that between a husband and wife there should be full disclosure.

Still, I'd kept things from Wade in the past. So, why be open now? Because for the past few days I'd been feeling guilty. Guilty about having accepted those flowers from John; guilty about not having told Wade where they'd come from. Guilty about thinking John might be in love with me; guilty about my own disturbing feeling for him, about what could be called my 'crush', even though I knew the 'crush' was all just some crazy, pregnancy-related hormonal thing, not my fault, out of my control. Some crazy hormonal thing and, very likely, cold feet. Maybe I realized, maybe that was why I found myself thinking about John when I should have been thinking about Wade. Cold feet. It was normal to feel scared as the wedding approached; it was normal to consider, for one last time, all the possibilities you were rejecting by choosing just one man, just one life.

Just one man. And if that one man were John Cena, what would I be choosing? Someone who charted his own course. Someone who took chances. Someone who made me feel. Someone risky. Cold feet. I tried to comfort myself with the fact that I'd never once done anything that could truly be considered cheating; I'd never betrayed Wade by as much as a kiss on the cheek. Wade, as far as I knew, was completely oblivious to the absurd thoughts running my head. And, I vowed, I would do anything to keep him in the dark because none of it mattered in the end. Nothing, I reminded myself, that I was feeling in those days was real. Nothing.

Still, for all the stupid stuff in my head I felt. I owed Wade something, some gesture of solidarity. So, I told him about Elise and Chris. Really, how had I expected him to react?

"That woman is a loser, Brianne." He said, contempt dripping from every word. "You should spend less time with her and more time with—well, frankly, I don't think any of your friends are up to par, but I suppose Jamie is the least objectionable."

There were so many things I wanted to say, so many, but I couldn't even open my mouth. I tried; I did. But I felt as though I had been heavily drugged into submission. It's like in my dreams, I thought, as I stared out at the darkening city. I'm being choked.

And maybe I deserved to be. I'd just betrayed my dearest friend. I betrayed Wade every time I listened to Elise trash his character. I betrayed Wade again every time I thought about John. What was wrong with me? Was I loyal to no one? Trust-worthy Brianne Trufan could no longer be trusted.

We arrived at the restaurant, exactly on time. The Barretts were already there, at a table in the bar. My parents, as usual, were late. When they made their entrance any shred of hope I'd had for a successful evening died an ugly death. My mother was wearing what amounted to a cobalt blue running outfit, although she probably had bought it at a suburban store that featured "leisurewear" and "athletic chic" for the never-been-to-a-gym, over fifty-five set. Mrs. Barrett, in her proper skirt suit, looked infinitely lovely compared to my mother, but somehow, amazingly, she seemed the one making the faux pas. My mother has that kind of power, an unshakeable self-confidence that bullies those around her into automatic self-doubt and timidity.

And, my father, admittedly never the most elegant of conversationalists, was inordinately silent. I'd seen it before; undoubtedly he was furious with my mother—had she nagged him mercilessly on the drive into the city?—and was inflicting his bad mood on all of us.

It was an excruciating hour and a half. I tried, however subtly, to hurry things along; thankfully and without consultation, Mrs. Barrett joined me. We were partners in discomfort, and silently I forgave her for any minor crimes she'd committed against me. I was mad at Wade, annoyed with my parents' lack of social grace, dismayed by Mr. Barrett's boorish recitation of his latest financial achievements.

Finally, the dinner plates were cleared. "Would you care to see the dessert menu?" The unsuspecting waiter asked.

As if we'd rehearsed, Mrs. Barrett and I replied in unison. "No, thank you." We said.

"I'm afraid I have a bit of a headache." Mrs. Barrett added, looking fixedly at her water glass.

"I'm afraid I'm feeling a bit tired." I said, looking fixedly at my fiancé. "I think we should go home."

My parents made no move to pay for dinner.

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	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five:

A few days after she'd broken the big news, Elise persuaded me to take a stroll through the Public Garden. "Exercise is good for pregnant women." She said as we walked past the equestrian statue of George Washington on the Arlington Street side of the park.

"Exercise is good for every woman. I guess I should think about getting some."

"Oh, Brianne, don't be glum. It's such a beautiful day. A walk will be good for the soul."

Well, I thought, my soul could use some soothing. I couldn't forget the contempt in Wade's voice when I'd told him about Elise and Chris. From now on, I vowed, glancing at my friend, my friends' lives are their own. I will not practice full disclosure with my husband. At least, not with the husband I've chosen.

"How are things with Chris?" I asked.

"Good. There's some strain." Elise admitted. "It's odd being familiar strangers."

"I imagine so."

"It's so odd to know nothing about his life for the past years. I mean, I love Chris and yet in a daily, mundane sort of way, he's a stranger. I know nothing about him anymore."

"You know he wants you." I said. "And that he needs you."

"Yes. I should be content with that but I'm not. I want it to be like old times, when I knew everything. I knew what brand of toothpaste he used. I knew how he took his coffee. I knew that when he was in the car alone he liked to listen to NPR. I knew everything."

Not everything, I thought. Not how he acted alone with his wife. Not where his comb rested on their bathroom sink. Not the color of the bathrobe she bought him or the way he looked at her while she was sleeping. Not what he felt the first time he saw her holding their firstborn child? Not those intimacies.

I said nothing, just nodded encouragingly. The sun was warm; the gardens were alive with color; the sound of a child's laughter reached my ears. My soul, however, didn't feel particularly soothed.

"Now, I know nothing. I know nothing about what for the past years made him happy or sad. Are his parents still alive? What books did he read? What HBO series was he addicted to? Where was he on September 11th 2001, when he heard about the attack on the World Trade Center? I know nothing."

Elise' words made me think. I knew virtually everything about the daily Wade. I'd been with him almost every day for the past year. And yet, what did I really know about him, beyond the habits and behavioral traits? What had I really learned about him during our time together? Why hadn't I asked some important questions?

"But you'll learn." I said. "You'll ask questions."

Elise gave a small smile. It looked pained. "Oh, sure. But it's odd to know so very little about the life of someone you love so much. It's not like we were writing letters or emailing. It all just stopped. And I never knew what he was thinking about me. I never knew if he regretted ever having met me. I suspected me might. I doubted his love even then."

"Maybe you didn't doubt his love as much as think you weren't worthy of it."

"You're right. I guess I couldn't imagine love that big."

We walked along without talking for a while. I looked for mothers with their children. And I wondered what their husbands were doing after hours.

"I am so hungry." Elsie said suddenly. "My appetite has almost doubled since Chris came back. Let's get lunch."

"I guess I could eat something."

"Still battling nausea?"

"No, not really. I just feel a little off."

Elise didn't press the matter. "Look at us Brianne. What incredibly divergent paths our romantic lives have taken."

"You've had adventures. You've taken chances. I've kept to the straight and narrow."

"I'm beginning to think that the straight and narrow is kept is by very few people. I'm beginning to think that maybe the straight and narrow doesn't even exist."

"Are you saying life might surprise me yet?"

"I'm saying that you might surprise yourself yet. Far stranger things have happened, Brianne."

We walked across the Commons to a small comfort food place called Pasha. I had little appetite but ordered a tuna salad sandwich.

"I'll have a cheeseburger and fries." Elise told the waitress. "And do you have real Coke, not diet?"

"Your appetite has improved." I commented when the waitress had gone off with our order.

Elsie grinned. "I know. And I'm not even worried about gaining weight. How bizarre is that? Oh, and Brianne, I need to ask you a favor."

"Sure."

"Would you not tell anyone about Chris and me? I had to tell you, you're my closet friend but I want to keep Chris to myself for a while. I want to keep us private."

"Of course." I assured her, hoping my crime wasn't' stamped across my face. "Your secret's safe with me."

"I'm not ashamed. And I don't see a reason why when I do introduce my friends to Chris I have to reveal the whole tragic story."

"I understand."

Our lunch came and Elise dug in like the proverbial truck driver. I took one bite and chewed unenthusiastically. "So, if it's okay to ask, what happened with Chris and his wife?"

"What happened is that his wife decided she didn't want to be married any longer."

"Just like that"

"Well, according to Chris it was out of the blue. Right after dinner one night. He went out back to turn off the sprinklers and she followed him. Told him right there on the lawn that she wanted him to move out."

"What reason did she give for wanting a divorce?"

"She said she was leaving on grounds of incompatibility. I'm not even sure she needs a reason in the state of Massachusetts. Anyway, I suspect her decision wasn't' made on the spur of the moment. Can you imagine making such a momental decision in the snap of a finger?"

"Not really. Aren't you afraid he'll go back to his wife?" I asked tentatively.

"No, I'm not afraid. He won't go back. And even if he wanted to, which he doesn't, she wouldn't take him back."

"How can you be sure?"

"I'm sure. Anyway, he's kind of in shock, of course. He never expected her to go. How well did he know her after all?"

How well, indeed. Maybe, I thought, if Chris had paid more attention to the woman he'd married, then what? Then Elise might never have met him. Would that have been a good thing or a bad one?

"But now, he's free."

"You have such faith in him. I'm impressed by that. I feel that you deserve this chance with your one great love."

"I don't' know about deserving the chance. I don't think the world works fairly. I don't think anyone gets what she really deserves, good or bad. But the chance is here and I'm taking it and if I don't' take it wholeheartedly, what's the point in taking it all?"

"You aren't very good at doing things halfway. That's true."

"Love isn't half-hearted, Brianne. It's like the songs say, all or nothing at all. Love is either there or it isn't. Love is easy that way. It's not confusing. It's very simple. I like that about love."

"I don't know how you can say that love is simple. Maybe for some people it is, but for other people it's horribly complicated. What happens when you find yourself in love with someone you're not supposed to be in love with?"

"What does that mean? 'Supposed to' has nothing to do with love."

"Of course it does. You're not supposed to fall in love with a married man. You're not supposed to fall in love with someone so different from you he'd irrevocably disrupt your life and just make a mess."

"I gather you're not talking about Wade. The man probably never even made a mess in mud puddle."

"I'm not talking about anyone in particular" I retorted. Of course, Elise knew I was lying. But I could pretend to ignore that fact.

What had she said about people who choose not to see the truth? And then I thought, when you say you have to grab love when it shows up, even when it means hurting someone in the process—like a wife or a husband—aren't you just creating an excuse for selfish behavior? Aren't you just saying, forget will power and self-control and sacrifice. Just take what you want and if someone gets destroyed in the process well so be it. That's life. That's the way the ball bounces and the cookie crumbles.

"So, it's okay to cheat on someone if—"

"I don't advocate cheating, Brianne. I do advocate love. Anyway, what are we really talking about here" Not me any longer, that's for sure."

"Nothing. I guess I'm just tried. I feel a bit confused. I haven't been sleeping very well lately."

"Maybe you need more exercise and fresh air."

"Maybe, I do."

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	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six:

"Look at those azaleas, Wade." I said. "Have you ever seen anything so beautiful? The pinks are the clear and clean."

On Elise's assertion that exercise and fresh air cure all ills, I pressure Wade to spend an afternoon with me at the Harvard Arboretum. Wade isn't much of a nature lover. Even a well-manicured path through a formally sculpted garden has little appeal for him.

"Oh." He said. "That reminds me. I picked up a few new shirts at Brooks Brothers yesterday. I thought my wardrobe needed a little more rounding out in the nouveaux classics department. I got one in a sort of dusty rose, which I think works wonderfully with my complexion."

"Good." I said.

And there he was. John, camera in hand, tripod on a strap over his shoulder, striding closer to a bank of white azaleas. I watched, heart racing, as he squatted then stretched out on his stomach to get the shots he wanted.

"So." Wade said. "I'm thinking of starting these special vitamins for people doing the low-carb thing. They're over-the-counter so I don't have to bother seeing my doctor first, which is great because I swear it takes a month to get in unless you have an emergency."

"Mmm." I said.

Maybe, I thought, John won't see us. Maybe Wade won't see John and I can pretend not to see him, either. Maybe I thought, I can ignore him, cut him dead and explain later. Explain what, Brianne?

John got to his feet and strode off, his back to us. I felt weak with relief. He hadn't seen us, I was sure of it. I didn't think he was that good of an actor; I didn't think he could fake anything at all.

"I think I'm allergic to these lilacs." Wade said. He wrinkled his nose as if their smell was truly foul.

"They do have a strong fragrance." I replied.

"Brianne, are we done here? I thought we could stop by that fabulous new furniture store over on Washington before we meet Rob and his date for dinner."

"Okay." I said.

"I saw a gorgeous occasional table in the window and I thought it might go perfectly in the hall to the second bedroom. Ugh, we're not having lilacs at the wedding, are we?"

I never made it to dinner that night. As soon as we left the furniture store I knew something was wrong. Wade accompanied me back to my apartment, where I immediately got into bed. He went off to meet his brother. I'd heard enough about migraine symptoms to know the headache was no ordinary tension headache. I wanted to fall asleep but the pain just wouldn't let me go. I wanted to pass out. I wanted to die. And all I could do was lie on my bed and wait it out. Lesson learned: Knowing the pain will eventually go away is no consolation to the sufferer.

"So, is the migraine totally gone?" Elise asked. We were having dinner at Cobra, yet another new hot spot she'd forced me to try.

"Yes, finally. It lingered for two days. I don't think I've ever felt so sick."

"Poor you. And not even able to take medication."

I sighed. "Frankly, even if I was allowed to take something I wasn't well enough to crawl into the bathroom to get it."

"You should have called me sooner. I know there's a phone right by your bed. I would have come by."

"I know. I should have. If there's a next time—"

"Don't think about a next time. Brianne, my dear, you really need to learn how to think positively. Sometimes you're downright lugubrious."

"Then, you're not going to want to hear what I've been working up the nerve to tell you."

"Brianne, I am your friend. I daresay I'm your dearest friend. If you can't talk to me, who can you talk to?"

"Do you ever have recurring dreams?"

"Besides the ones I have about Chris and me being torn apart by three-headed Godzilla-like monsters? No."

"Oh well, lately I've been having recurring dreams. Not the same exact dreams every night, but they all share similar themes. It's kind of upsetting me."

"It shouldn't." Elise said. "If the constant themes are love and peace and sex with a gorgeous man. But I'm guessing they're not."

"No, nothing like that I'm afraid."

"Go ahead, tell me about them. I'm not a shrink so I probably can't help you interpret, but I can listen like one."

"That's awfully generous of you." I said sincerely. "Most people are bored to tears listening to someone else's dreams."

"I'm in a generous mood. I just got a big job and I'm feeling expansive in every way. Plus, I owe you for all the hours you've listened to me go on about my extramarital affair and its extraordinary outcome."

"You don't owe me anything. And congratulations on the job." I took a breath. "Okay, here's one. I pick up a piece of paper. I know that it's a printed list of some sort. But I can't see any of the words. I try really hard to read it, but everything is a blur, nothing is in focus, not even the edges of the paper. At first I'm frustrated, and then I start to panic. I think, 'I'm going blind!' but nobody notices that I can't see or that I'm panicking. And I don't want them to notice that I can't see or that I'm panicking. I don't want anyone to see that anything is wrong with me or that I need help."

"Huh. Then what happens?"

"Nothing. I mean, I wake up or the dream just ends."

"Okay. Is there more?"

"Yes, but this one is horrible, truly disgusting. Are you sure you want to hear it?"

"Yes. I think. No, go ahead I'm brave."

"Well, in some dreams my mouth is stuffed with a gritty, viscous substance. I don't know what it is or where it comes from. It's not like when you've got a cold—"

"Oh, ick." Elise grimaced. "Honey, that really is disgusting!"

"I'm sorry. I'll stop."

"No, go on. Really. I'm fine. I think you should talk about these dreams. Even if they are disturbing. Especially if they are disturbing. I just won't order anything gooey tonight."

Friends. Really, where are we without them?

"Okay. If you're sure. Anyway, this stuff prevents me from being able to talk. I have to scoot away from whomever I'm with, find some private place, and pull the stuff out of my mouth. It comes out in clumps or sometimes it pulls out like taffy. It always seems endless. I try to find a mirror so I can make sure I get it all out. I don't want anyone to know this happens to me. It's so embarrassing and that's it."

"That's enough." Elise said finally. "What a nightmare! Poor Brianne. You must wake up in the morning completely exhausted."

"I wake up completely grateful that it was all just a dream."

"But still. Maybe you should see a therapist about these dreams. They don't seem very healthy."

"Dreams can't hurt you."

Elise leaned forward across the table. "Brianne. The dreams might be an expression of hurt you already feel. Like the dream where you can't read what's written on the piece of paper. I think it's about your trying to communicate. I think it's about your trying to be part of the world. I think it's about your trying to see what everyone else is seeing."

Did that make sense? "Maybe." I said. "And sometimes I dream about having no voice. Sometimes I'm furious with someone for being cruel to me and the more I try to scream at this person the less noise comes from my throat until all that's left of my voice is a scratch."

"That sounds like a classic frustration dreams. You're trying and trying to do something but nothing is happening. Your efforts are in vain."

"My efforts are in vain." I repeated the words. "Anyway, sometimes I need to defend myself against a false accusation, and my voice is just gone. And sometimes I need to call out for help; sometimes someone is trying rape me or stab me. And every time I try to shout, I can't. Nothing comes out of my mouth but pitiful, strangled gasps."

"No wonder you've got dark circles under your eyes."

"I do?"

"You mean you haven't noticed? Boy, you are in need of a peaceful night's sleep."

"I know. So what do you think?"

"I think that your dream self is essentially blind and dumb."

"At least I can hear." I joked lamely.

"What good is the ability to take in information if you can't actually put it to use? What good is hearing the question if you can't give an answer?

"Do you want to hear about another dream? It's not grotesque."

"Sure. I've got no place else to be."

"I dream of being alone." And then I considered. "No, it's more like I'm unseen or forgotten. I dream that love has passed me by and I just don't understand how it happened. It's like maybe I fell asleep and missed something. Do you understand?"

"Not really. Give me something specific."

"Okay. Well, in one of these dreams I'm at a beautiful tropical resort, and suddenly my dream self remembers that I was at the resort years before with someone. I vaguely recall that the person was someone important, a lover. I remember there was a violent hurricane blowing in. But I can't remember anything more, and it troubles me. Why can't I remember my lover's name or his face? Why can't I remember what happened to him? Why can't I understand how I would up all alone? And then, suddenly, I remember that I'm engaged and that I haven't been left behind after all. I realize that I haven't missed my last chance and that I won't grow old alone."

"That sounds happy."

"But it isn't happy. In the dream I don't feel happy; I don't even feel relieved. And then I wake up, and my waking mind says, 'Brianne, you have Wade, you're not alone.' And still I feel no comfort or joy in knowing that. I still feel utterly alone."

I watched Elise absorb what I'd told her. "Brianne, dreams are significant. They might be random in one sense but in another sense they're meaningful. Have you really thought about what these dreams are expressing? In terms of the choices you've made. You know, like getting married."

Like getting married to Wade. Suddenly, the conversation had gotten too close for comfort. "Not really. Not much. I'm not sure dreams are all that important."

"If you believed that you wouldn't have told me all about them."

"Maybe."

"Don't jump down my throat when I say this. But maybe the dreams are a product of pregnancy hormones."

"No." I said. "I've been having these dreams for quite some time now. It's just that they've intensified lately." Since Wade and I got engaged, I added silently. Since I learned about you and Chris. Since I can't help but compare John to Wade and find my fiancé lacking. Since everything has gotten so complicated.

"That doesn't reassure me at all." Elise said gloomily.

It didn't reassure me, either.

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	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven:

I walked into the restaurant at exactly seven o'clock and scanned the bar. There was a man seated alone at the far end. And although Elise hadn't described Chris in any great detail, I just knew this man was him. My friend's famous Mystery Lover.

He looked nervous. If he'd been lounging with an arm thrown over the back of his chair and a toothpick hanging out of his mouth, I would have been furious with him. As it was, I was furious with Elise. I'll kill her, I thought. I'll kill her for being late and forcing me to spend time alone with this man I don't know and am not sure I want to know.

"Chris." I said.

"Brianne?" He sounded a bit relieved.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." I said and extended my hand.

"The pleasure." He said, taking my hand. "Is all mine. Really. I know this must be awkward for you. It certainly is for me. Thank you for coming."

"Thank you for being straightforward."

Chris pulled out a stool for me. "Would you like something to drink?"

I ordered a seltzer with lime. And we looked at each other.

"So." He said.

"So." I replied.

"There you are!"

I whirled around to see Elise striding toward us, all smiles. "Why don't we sit at this little table? It'll be easier to talk."

Chris practically jumped from his stool to greet her. I lowered my eyes as they kissed hello. In a moment we were seated at the table.

"You were late." I said.

Elise grinned. "Chris hates the fact that I'm always late."

"Twelve minutes late." Chris and I said it completely in sync.

"He thinks it's passive-aggressive of me."

"So do I." I blurted.

"So why didn't you ever say anything? I've told you that I think you're constantly checking your watch is obsessive-compulsive."

I smiled brightly. "Elise, I think your always being late is passive-aggressive."

"Thank you for sharing your opinion."

"She has control issues." Chris stage-whispered to me and I laughed.

So far so good, I thought.

"I hear congratulations are in order." Chris said when we'd ordered drinks.

"Yes. Thanks."

"A wedding and a baby. You must be very busy."

I noted—how could I not?—that Chris hadn't said I must be very happy. How much had Elise told him about my increasingly disturbing dreams? How much of her low opinion of Wade had she shared?

"Not much more than usual." I said lightly.

Elise smiled at me blandly. I thought back to when she'd asked me to join them that night. She hadn't invited Wade. I hadn't even considered bringing him. While the lovebirds caught up on their days, I looked at Elise's face and it was like watching Elizabeth Taylor gazing Richard Burton; Heloise contemplating Abelard; Juliet swooning over Romeo.

Sitting there with Elise and Chris, I was forced, one again, to face the truth that Wade, the man I was going to marry, the father of my unborn child, was not the great love of my life. And by accepting Wade's proposal of marriage I'd effectively eliminated my chances for a great love in my future.

That's okay, I told myself again while the lovebirds cooed on. Over-the-top, erotically charges romance simply isn't in the cards for you. It's simply not your fate to experience intense passion. You, Brianne, are just one of those women who are unlucky in great love. I wondered, then what was I lucky in? Mediocre love? And what, I thought, was wrong with that?

"Earth to Brianne!"

Elise's voice called me back to life. I smiled embarrassedly at Chris. "I'm sorry. Something I just remembered, about a job."

"You really should try to relax." Elise scolded. "Here, honey, try some of this pate; it's fabulous."

Chris passed the plate of bread. The conversation turned to health insurance and then to the upcoming show at the MFA. I tried to participate, but one powerful thought kept nagging at my brain. What if—just think Brianne!—what if great, passionate love, the kind that's eluded you for all these years, is finally here, right in front of you, waiting to be embraced?

The thought was terrifying. Don't be an idiot, Brianne, I chided. You've made your decisions and you'll stick with it. But thoughts of John Cena would not go away.

I woke the next morning feeling as if I'd swallowed a watermelon whole. I briefly considered working from home where I could turn up the air conditioning full blast and avoid the boiling streets. Then I remembered I'd left an important email address on the desk in my office and that I'd promised to drop off a book of Susan Sontag essays to John in his studio.

Of course, I could have called to postpone the visit but I wanted to see John. I wanted to see the pictures he'd taken that day at the Arboretum, when I'd effectively hid from him. I wanted to talk with him about the Sontag book. I wanted to talk with John about everything. I wanted to see his face.

"You don't look very good." John said when I showed up around eleven o'clock.

I gave him a patently false smile. "I don't feel very good."

"What's wrong? Do you feel sick?"

"Something like that. Trust me, you don't want to know."

John gestured toward the small refrigerator by his desk. "Do you want some water? Sorry it's not cooler in here. The AC is acting up. A service guy is supposedly coming this afternoon. Or next month."

"Yes."I said. "Thanks."

John grabbed a cold bottle of Dasani, opened it and handed it to me. "I see your fiancé got his name in print again."

I took a drink of the water. "Really? I haven't seen a paper today. I haven't even read the news online. Do you have the Globe?"

"It's not in the Globe?" He said.

"Okay. What paper then?"

John picked up an oversized magazine from his desk and thrust it at me.

"Wade is in Outrageous?" Outrageous is black-and-white weekly that chronicles the nightlife of Boston's wealthier. "I didn't know you read anything so vapid. Do you know there are an average of five typos or misspellings or obvious grammatical errors per page? I've counted."

John grimaced. "I have to keep up on what my clients are doing on their off-hours. Believe me, I don't enjoy it."

The truth was I didn't enjoy it magazine much, either. With some trepidation I opened the magazine.

"I'll save you some time." John said. "Page thirty-five."

I opened to page thirty-five; the photos were dated; they had all been taken over the past few weeks. Wade at dinner with a man I recognized as a celebrity defensive attorney; Wade in a bar deep in conversation with one of the most infamous members of the Red Sox; and finally Wade at a nightclub dancing—Wade danced?—with an unnamed buxom blonde who might not have been of legal drinking age.

"So?" I said looking back to John. "Socializing is an important part of Wade's business."

"It's an important part of your business, too, but you don't make a fool of yourself doing it."

"Wade doesn't make a fool of himself. Do you see him doing anything foolish in these pictures?"

John laughed bitterly. "I see him prostituting himself for his daddy's money, which it seems is all he's fit to do."

I stood there, sweating, trembling; I thought I would throw up; I thought I would pass out. Finally I found my voice. "Why did you even have to show me this stupid magazine? So you could antagonize me? So you could try to embarrass me? Look, John, it's my life. Why don't you just let me live it?"

"Because you're not doing a very good job of it."

"What?" I cried. "How dare you! What gives you the right to talk to me this way? Look I don't want to hear another word about Wade. I mean it, John. I've listened to your obnoxious opinions for too long."

"If you really were listening. Forget it."

John turned away and I did something I'd never done before. I grabbed his arm and yanked. He turned back; the look on his face was unreadable. I was horrified; I was furious.

"No, I don't want to forget it. What were you going to say? That if I were really listening I would have what? Reconsidered my marriage based on the opinion of a thirty-four year old bachelor who knows nothing about what it takes to make a relationship?"

"Brianne—"

"You're despicable." I said. "I hate you for making me feel so horrible!"

And suddenly, it was as if I'd slapped him in the face. He seemed to deflate from an angry, self-righteous jerk to a confused, penitent man. "I didn't want to make you feel bad, Brianne."

"Then what did you want? How did you expect me to react to your so-called constructive criticism?"

"I didn't think. I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Oddly enough, I believed him. John isn't a liar. I believed he was sorry for hurting me. But at that moment, his apology, no matter how sincere, didn't mean a thing.

"Apology not accepted." I snapped. "I'm leaving. Here's the book I promised you." I flung the Sontag book on his desk and marched toward the door. Wisely, John didn't try to stop me by word or outstretched hand. Once on the sidewalk I stopped to breathe; I sat for a minute on the stone steps of the building, blinking against the brutal sun until I was calm enough to pull my sunglasses from my bag.

I felt like such a fool. I'd actually been thinking romantic thoughts about John. I'd actually thought he might have romantic feelings for me. Idiot. Stupid hormones! They'd made me into someone I hardly recognized. The air was thick; it felt dirty. I'd take a nice cool shower the moment I got home. I'd try to forget the awful scene that had just taken place. And I'd think about the baby. At least I had the baby. And that made me very, very happy.

There wasn't time to wait for an ambulance. I just knew. Biting my lip against the violence happening inside of me, I made it down to the entrance hall of my building, step by excruciating step. There was no sound at all from any of the other apartments. It seemed everyone was asleep. It simply didn't occur to me to wak them.

Once outside, I hailed a cab. Inanely I thought, I'm having incredible luck with cabs these days. Carefully, I got into the backseat. "Emergency room, Beth Israel. And please hurry."

"Someone in an accident, lady? The driver asked as he screeched off.

"Yes. There's been an accident."

It didn't occur to me until I was standing just outside the doors to the ER that I should call Wade. Somehow I seemed to know that cell phones don't work in hospitals; I don't know why. The pain caused me to double over, but I managed to make the call on my cell phone before walking through those automatic doors. Wade's recorded voice met my ears. "It's Brianne. I'm at the ER, Beth Israel. It's about eleven thirty, I think. Something wrong, Wade. Something's very wrong."

There was no heartbeat. There was nothing.

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	28. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight:

Wade drove me home. Unspoken agreement had led us to my apartment, not the loft. We sat for a moment in the front seat of his Jaguar, silently.

"You go on up." He said finally. He didn't look at me when he spoke, just stared ahead through the windshield. "I'll find a place to park and be up in a minute."

"That's okay." I said quickly. "I mean, I'm okay. I just need to sleep. Why don't you go home. I mean, it's so hard to find parking here and you have a spot at the loft."

Wade didn't spend much time thinking about his answer. "All right. If you're sure."

"I'm sure. Thanks for the ride." I said.

"No problem."

I eased out of the car. As Wade drove off, I flashed back to those awkward first and only dates of high school. I remembered how I felt as the unhappy boy drove away, leaving me at the bottom of our driveway. Very alone. Terribly aware that the evening had been a huge mistake. Relieved to be home, where I belonged. I climbed the long flights of stairs to my apartment, conscious at every step of the doctor's words of caution. But the only way home was to climb those stairs. I opened the door to my apartment, and for the first time it seemed like a lonely place. I'd been coming home to an empty apartment for years, but somehow, it had never felt really empty until that moment.

Not all the baby gifts we'd been given were stored in the loft apartment. A sterling silver piggy bank, still in its box, sat on the coffee table. A Lamaze infant play mat was spread out on the floor beneath the table. The hideous handmade sweater Mrs. Barrett had commissioned was in a heap on a dining room chair. I picked it up and took it with me into the bedroom. Sun streamed through the window; it was only one o'clock in the afternoon. I slipped into bed in the clothes I was wearing and pulled the covers to my neck. I'd never felt so tired so flattened and boneless. Under the covers I bundled the lumpy sweater to my chest.

"Goodbye."I whispered. "Goodbye."

Thus began the worst few weeks of my life. What do you call a person who courts misery? A person who is most content being sunk in depression or self-pity? A misanthrope, a cynic, a defeatist. I don't' like misery. I'm not happy being unhappy.

I woke to find the bedroom already dark. I reached over and turned on the light; my watch said it was eight o'clock. Carefully, I got out of bed; the hideous sweater was on the floor in a heap. I checked voice mail; no one had called. Not even Wade. I wondered if he'd told anyone. Slowly I made my way into the kitchen where I realized I hadn't eaten in almost twenty-four hours. I spread peanut butter and jelly on crackers. And still the phone didn't ring.

I went into the living room and pulled my college copy of Roget's Thesaurus from the bookshelf. I looked up synonyms for the words miscarry and miscarriage. There were many. For example: A miscarriage was a failure. It was a nonsuccess. A miscarriage was a fruitless endeavor. By miscarrying I had missed my work. To miscarry was to botch the job.

My accidental pregnancy had come to nothing. Listlessly, I reached for the remote and began to flip through the nine hundred channels. Nothing was of interest until I reached Lifetime. The station was airing a movie about a young, kindhearted, wide-eyed woman fighting her older, evil, narrow-eyed ex-husband for custody of their seven-month-old baby. I wept through the entire two hours. Maybe, I thought, I'm a defeatist after all.

Spontaneous abortion. It's Nature's way of weeding out the imperfect. Nature. I was terrified. The world was full of risk; anything at all could happen at any time; this moment could be my last. My own body could rise up and rebel, destroy what it had created, and there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing at all but recover. And recovery was on everybody's mind. Everyone had ideas about how to move on. Everybody felt the need to express them.

Get pregnant again immediately, some said. At least as soon as the doctor says it's okay. Other said, wait a year before trying again. Get married, go on the honeymoon and relax. Put it all out your mind, a nurse at my doctor's office told me. Miscarriage is common; millions of women have miscarriages; the fetus wasn't a baby yet, anyway. Not a real person. Me? I've had three and you don't see me missing any sleep do you?

Go to a therapist for counseling. Join a support group. Women grieving the loss of an unborn child. I'm sure the hospital can hook you up. Get over it, go through it, ignore it, embrace it.

People I hardly knew sent me articles clipped from women's and parenting magazines. Wade's mother alerted me by phone to a weeklong segment on the evening news; it was devoted to in her words, "women with hostile wombs." My own mother sent me a standard issue inspirational greeting card that assured me God was watching over me every second of the day. The card only made me feel paranoid.

Carrie sent me a flowery card reminding me that she was my "Forever Friend." Maryse and Eve brought me homemade chicken soup. Elise checked in with me every two hours on the dot, offering a delivery of groceries, wine or magazines. Jamie came by with flowers and helped with my housekeeping.

No doubt everyone's intentions were good, but the clamor began to wear on my nerves. Why can't my grief belong to me, I wondered. How am I supposed to know how I feel if they all keep talking, yammering, shouting in my ear! Everyone, I thought, should just shut up.

"Can I get anyone something to drink?" I offered listlessly. "I haven't been to the store since last week but—"

Four days since I'd lost the baby and I wasn't feeling any less miserable. I warned them I was a mess but they came anyway.

"Quit trying to play hostess." Elise commanded. "We can fend for ourselves."

"Do you know what my mother said to me?" I asked. "She said and I quote: God only gives us what we can handle. If he didn't think you could handle losing this baby, he wouldn't have allowed it to happen."

"Since when did your mother get religion?" Elise snapped.

Jamie winced. "That's so wrong on so many levels."

"And that nonsense is supposed to make me feel better! I'm supposed to be able to handle this miscarriage and I'm not handling it, I'm not able to handle it, so I'm screwing that up too? I can't be a good mother and I can't be a happy fiancé and now I can't stop crying.."

Carrie patted my shoulder gently. "A lot of that's hormones, you know. It's not really you. It's the chemicals."

I swiped tears from my cheek. "Why is everything about the chemicals?"

"You need to stop blaming yourself."

Elise, too? Where, where did people get these notions?

"I'm not blaming myself."I protested. "At least not entirely. I know these things just happen. It's not like I went horseback riding over rough terrain or went bungee jumping at Great Adventure. It's not like I tried to end the pregnancy."

"Maybe what you need is—"

I cut Carrie off. "What I really need is to go to sleep. For a long, long time. I'm just so tired. So awfully tired. And no." I added, looking at each of my friends in turn, "I don't mean tired of living. My mother also reminded me that God helps those who help themselves. God, it seems, doesn't like losers."

There was a moment of charged silence; Carrie broke it.

"I know I shouldn't say it, what with the kids in Sunday school and all, but well, sometimes the notion of God does more harm than good."

"That's the understatement of the century." Jamie sighed. "I'd be happy if God—or the idea of him—just went away."

"It's not God's fault the world is so horrid." Elise said. "It's people who commit idiocy. God and guns are not to blame. Human beings, the creators of God and guns? Now they're the big culprits."

Jamie nodded. "And there's no escaping our human nature."

I moaned and fell back against the pillows. "Please, I'm depressed enough as it is."

Carrie adjusted the shades and straightened the rumpled covers. "We'll let you sleep. Do you want anything before we go? A glass of milk?"

"Carrie, I haven't had a glass of milk since I was twelve. Maybe a glass of water. But I can get it. Thanks."

My friends gathered their bags. When they were at the door to my room I said. "Everyone?"

Elise, Carrie and Jamie stopped and turned.

"Thank you."

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	29. Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine:

Five days and counting.

"Hi." Wade said. "It's Wade."

"Yes, I know. I have Caller ID." It wasn't a gracious reply but I wasn't feeling very gracious.

"Look, Brianne. I know I promised I'd stop by later but something's come up."

Something's come up? Was he really pulling out that tired old line? And what about a few conversational preliminaries like, how was your day? Or, how is work going? Since the miscarriage Wade hadn't once asked if I was behind schedule, if I needed to hire temporary help.

"What's come up?" I said.

"There's this guy I really need to meet tonight, for business purposes. I know I said I'd check in on you, see if you needed anything—"

"That's okay." I said forestalling another lame excuse. "I'm fine, Eve was here earlier, and I talked to Jamie a little while ago."

"Good, good." Wade sounded infinitely relieved that I hadn't made scene. Not that I ever had. "Because this guy could be very important to us. To the family. He knows just about everyone there is to know both in Boston and New York."

"He must be quite a guy." I wondered if Wade heard the sarcasm in my voice. If he did, he chose not to respond to it.

"Oh, I almost forgot. My mother asked about you."

"Oh? She called you?" Mrs. Barrett hadn't called me since the miscarriage. But then again, my own mother hadn't returned the call I'd made to her. Although maybe it was better she hadn't called, given that completely unsympathetic card she'd sent me.

"Yes, I spoke to her earlier."

Did I have to drag it out of him? "Well, what did you tell her?" Although how would Wade know how I was doing? I'd hardly seen him since he'd dropped me off that dreadful day. And our phone conversations had all been about as stiff as those between an employer and the employee he'd just fired.

"I told her you were fine."

I imagined my nerve ending fraying into nothing. "Look, Wade, I've got to go."

"Right, me too. Wish us luck with this guy."

"Wade?" I said, suddenly not wanting to let him go. "How are you doing?"

He sighed. He sounded impatient now to be gone. "I just told you, work is crazy right now so I'm a little stressed. I've got a massage scheduled tomorrow so that should help and—"

"Wade. I mean about what happened. Losing the baby."

There was a long moment of silence. I tried to picture the expression on Wade's face as he struggled for something to say, but I couldn't. I couldn't see him at all.

"Brianne." He said finally, brusquely. "I've got to go. This is the office, not a place for a personal conversation."

I took a deep breath before saying, "Right. Good luck with the connected guy."

We didn't actually say goodbye.

The phone rang at nine the next morning, waking me from a deep sleep and the dreams. I was being choked. My mouth was full of grit. I crouched at the edge of a pond and saw in the water my own face in miniature.

Caller ID told me it was Jamie. I reached for the receiver. I didn't want to go back to sleep and those awful dreams.

"Did I wake you?" She asked.

"Yes but its okay. Really." I pushed the pillows up behind my back. I saw my reflection in the vanity's mirror and shuddered.

"So, is it okay if I come over for a bit?"

"Sure." I said. "Okay but I'm warning you, I've looked better. This might be the worst hair day of my life."

"I promise not to grimace. I'll be there in half an hour."

I managed to put a robe on over my nightgown and to drag a brush through my hair. By the time Jamie arrived a half hour later I'd had a cup of coffee and was semi-awake.

"How are you?" Jamie asked.

Oh, I was getting so tired of that question. "The doctor said that I'll probably be depressed and irritable and all sorts of nasty things for some time. So I've got that to look forward to."

"Think of the potential, Brianne." Jamie said brightly. "You can get away with murder—in some states, anyway—because the hormones are responsible, not you."

"Can't anything I feel be real?" I cried. "Does it all have to be caused by hormones? Is every feeling suspect? I resent this. I resent being told I'm not the real owner of my feelings. Who I am can't be reduced to some stupid chemical formula!"

"I'm sorry, Brianne." She said softly. "Really. It was dumb; I shouldn't have tried to make a joke."

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten all crazy. See? I can admit I'm acting crazy so maybe I'm not a total mess."

"You're not a mess at all. You're a very normal woman going through a very difficult time. That's all."

"That's enough!"

Jamie gave a half-hearted laugh, then the words came blurting out. "Brianne, I have something to tell you." She looked down at her hands and twisted her wedding ring crazily. "I'm embarrassed to admit this, but we're friends and I'm your maid-of-honor and I feel uncomfortable not being totally honest with you."

I wondered, had Jamie taken a hint from Elise's life? Was she having an affair with a married man? Or maybe, like Kristen, she had made a play for Wade! What, I wondered, was happening to my friends?

"Okay."

"It's a terrible thing to admit, especially just after the miscarriage—"

"It's okay. Just tell me."

"Well, when you got pregnant…it was a little difficult for me. It shouldn't have been but it was. I was happy for Brianne, honestly, but I was also miserable. Randy and I have been trying for a baby but no luck so far."

"Were you jealous?"

"Honor, not jealous." Jamie shook her head. "I'm sorry, Brianne. I'm being all whiney and self-pitying. And believe me I'm so, so sorry about happened. I came over this morning thinking I might be of some help."

"Let's say we're both here to help each other, okay? I'm so sorry, Jamie. I never knew you and Randy were trying."

"Well, it's not something that rules my life anymore. I've worked on that. Its bad enough I brought it up now. Talk about dampening a good mood."

"Friends have a right to dampen each other's good moods once in a while. I've certainly dampened my share since that little pink stick told me I was pregnant. And let's face it, I wasn't in such a good mood this morning anyway."

Jamie pulled her hand from mine and stood up. "I know just how to get us both into a good mood. We need to go get a big cookie. One for each of us. A big, dense, chocolate chip cookie."

"One you could eat with a knife and fork?"

"Exactly."

I got up from the couch and stretched. It felt good to move. "I thought you didn't eat sweets. Miss Whole Foods Tofu Girl."

Jamie smiled. "This is an exception. Now go and put on some decent clothes."

I took a few steps toward the bathroom and then stopped. "You know, everyone but you had a suggestion about what to name the baby. Even Elise had an opinion."

"Oh, I had a suggestion. I just didn't think I should offer it."

"Why?"

"What you named the baby was your business, not mine."

"Tell me now."

"How about." She said. "I keep my suggestion to myself. Until the next time, okay?"

Tears came to my eyes again but this time they weren't sad tears. What would I do without Jamie, I wondered. Without Elise, without Carrie. Who would I be?

"Okay, until the next time."

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	30. Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty:

I woke to a beautiful late May morning. The sun was shining through a few scattered puffy clouds. I opened the windows to a cool, refreshing breeze. And for the first time in what seemed like forever, I felt a surge of mental energy.

After a hearty breakfast—my appetite seemed to have returned, as well—I sat at my computer and got down to work in a serious way. It felt good to focus on something other than me. I made a few calls, wrote a few letters, worked up a few preliminary sketches, checked out a vendor's new web site.

I showered and got dressed. At the door of the building, my hand on the knob, I halted. Did I really want to go out there? Somehow, miraculously, I opened that door, walked down the stairs and turned left toward Washington Street. The first step is the hardest. Believe it.

Three blocks later I decided to stop for a cup of iced coffee. I'll drink it in Blackstone Square, I thought. I'll sit quietly and alone on a bench, sip my coffee, and watch people play fetch with their dogs. The tiny bakery and sandwich shop was crowded with people needing a mid-afternoon pick-me-up. John Cena was two ahead of me on line. I hadn't seen him since that awful fight right before the miscarriage. Almost immediately, as if sensing my presence, he turned. I gave a little wave; I couldn't help it. John let the person behind him go ahead and joined me.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Do you have a few minutes?" John asked. "I want to show you something."

"I just stopped in for an iced coffee to go." I said not really answering his question.

"Please. I'd like your opinion about some photographs."

Somehow, I managed a smile. "You're asking for my opinion?"

"It's not my work. It's the work of a kid at some high school downtown. A friend who teaches there asked me to critique it."

I suppose I should have refused. I was still angry with him for his last brutal assessment of Wade. But what did I have to go home to? An empty apartment. My own grief and self-pity.

"Buy me a brownie?"

"Deal. I'll order. Why don't' you grab that table in the back?

I left John at the counter and squeezed my way through the tiny, bustling café. My feelings were still raw; my nerves overly sensitive to the crush of mid-afternoon snack seekers. Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe I should just go. But then John was there with our coffees and a brownie.

"A squirt of chocolate, right?" He said, placing a cup in front of me.

I nodded. Wade and I had been together almost a year and still he didn't know how I took my coffee, iced or hot.

John's an artist, I reminded myself sensibly. He notices things, people, details. He can't help it. He pays attention. It's what he does. That's why he knows my favorite flower. No big deal.

John pulled a slightly battered folder from his bag and opened it so that I could see its contents. "The kid's name Roland Kelly. He's fifteen. What do you think?"

I looked down at the four black-and-white photographs before me. They were shots of two or three kids hanging around on urban streets and in schoolyards. John continued to stare down at the images. After a minute, he said.

"There's a consistency of vision here that's very unusual in someone so young."

"I agree." I said. "I think they're very good. But I'm not an expert."

John put down his coffee up with a bang. "You don't need to be an expert. What does that mean, anyway? Someone with an advanced degree? You're a sensitive human being. And you know how to put your thoughts into meaningful words. Mostly."

I laughed. "Okay, maybe that's where a degree comes in handy. When you have to verbalize your instinctual responses."

"Maybe."

"So, are you going to help him? Be his mentor?"

"I don't believe in inflicting my so-called wisdom on anyone under the age of twenty-one. But yeah, I'll meet with him. I'll look at more of his work. I hope he's not a self-obsessed little jerk. I'm too old to deal with an egomaniacal kid."

John scooped the four photos back into the folder and replaced it in his bag. And I watched his hands. They were very different from Wade's. Not better or worse, just different. I like John's hands, I realized. They're strong and big, and yet he does the most sensitive things with them. But that way lies madness, Brianne.

"I think we should go." I said noticing the hovering coffee drinkers. "People want our table."

John smiled. "Since when do I care about what other people want?"

That's right. No social graces."

"But I'll be nice, for your sake."

"What you really mean is that you're late for an appointment."

"Yeah, Come on."

Then John did something he'd never done in our entire professional relationship. Ever so lightly he took my elbow and steered us through the crush of people. And something very strange happened to me. For the first time in my life I suddenly, unexpectedly flooded with desire. It hit me hard. I felt sick. I felt euphoric. I felt dizzy alive. Outside of the shop, John let go of me.

"I'll see you. Thanks for the brownie." I wanted to add, and thanks for asking for my opinion, and for listening to it and thank you for touching me.

John nodded. "Right"

Reluctantly—what did I want to happen?—I turned toward Shawmut Avenue. John's voice called me back.

"Brianne." He stood there on the corner, only fifteen or so feet from me. "I'm sorry. You know about the miscarriage."

I was pummeled by a riot of emotions—relief, fresh sadness, desire. Who, I wondered, had told him? Did it matter?

I wanted to say something earlier. I should have.

"It's okay." I said. What did John have to apologize for? "Really."

And suddenly that riot of emotions was just too much and I began to cry. I wanted to rush to him, fling my arms around him, beg him to hold me. But neither of us moved.

John's eyes held mine "Things will be better, Brianne."

I could only nod. And then I turned again toward home. I thought of the roses and knew in my heart that John stood and watched me go.

Wade called later that afternoon to say he was stopping by on his way home after the office. Stopping by, not staying for dinner or spending the night. Since the miscarriage, Wade and I had hardly spoken to each other; the conversation we'd had were stiff and cool. Suddenly we were so very distant from each other. I knew that the days and weeks following a miscarriage were trying for any couple.

But I was mourning alone. Wade, I assumed, was, too, because we certainly weren't mourning together. We weren't even sympathetic to each other's grief. I had no comfort to offer him, and he had none for me. Whatever it was we had had together seemed suddenly gone. Just gone—just like the baby.

A few minutes later there were three knocks on my door. Wade had chosen not to use his key to my apartment.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"How's work?"

Fine. Busy." Wade didn't touch me at all, no gentle kiss, no soft squeeze—no comforting hold on my elbow.

"Me too. Did you want to sit down?"

"No, I can't stay long. Brianne, I want to talk to you about something?"

"Okay."I said.

"Did the doctor say when it would be okay to try again? To get pregnant?"

"We never tried in the first place." I replied.

Wade rolled his eyes. I remembered a study about lasting relationships. Supposedly people who roll their eyes at each other are headed for divorce.

"You know what I mean, Brianne."

"We can have sex now, if you want." I said, surprising myself.

Wade laughed bitterly. I'd never heard bitterness from him. "You don't sound very interested. What about the pill? You didn't go back on it already, did you?"

"No, not with discussing it with you first. We're getting married, Wade. We're supposed to discuss things."

"Isn't that what we're doing now? Come on Brianne, give me a break."

"We already decided we didn't want children." I hadn't planned to say that.

"Yes, but everything's changed now." He said testily. "When you got pregnant—"

"When you got me pregnant." I snapped.

"I seem to remember you being there, Brianne. It took the two of us. I never forced you to be with me."

No, I thought. You never forced me. I said yes to you. But why? When I still didn't reply, Wade demanded. "Are you mad at me?"

"Yes, no, I don't know."

Wade reached for the briefcase he'd set on the hall table. "Maybe we should talk about this some other time. I'm going home."

"Don't go, Wade. Stay with me. You haven't stayed with me since it happened."

"You didn't seem to want me to."

"Are you mad at me, Wade? Be honest." I was desperate to feel—something, anything—with Wade.

"Not tonight, Brianne. Not while you're in this mood."

I moved to block the door. "It's not a mood, Wade. It's me. Its better we talk about this now."

"All you want to talk. We'll talk. I am mad, Brianne. Maybe, I shouldn't be but I am."

"At me?"

"Yes."

"Do you blame me for the miscarriage?"

Wade looked back to me. His eyes were blazing. "You never wanted a baby in the first place." He spat.

"Neither did you!"

"But I was excited when you got pregnant. When we got pregnant. You were never excited. You were never happy."

How little he knew me, the man I was supposed to marry!

"That's a lie!" I cried. "How can you say that, Wade! My God, I so wanted the baby. My baby."

I wondered, our baby? I put my hands over my face. I felt so awfully alone.

"I'm sorry, Brianne." Wade's tone was properly repentant. I didn't believe him for a minute. "I shouldn't have—"

I lowered my hands but kept my eyes focused on the floor. "You should go now." I whispered.

I thought you wanted me to stay."

I shook my head. I couldn't speak the words that were crowding my lips. Wade left.

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	31. Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One:

Elise came over bearing the latest issue of Italian Vogue and a large piece of German Chocolate Cake. I'd told her about my fight with Wade; this was her way of alleviating my posttraumatic stress. For a while we sat quietly. Elise flipped through the Vogue; I poked at the cake with a fork and though about losing the baby. I had suffered a miscarriage. That was what Maryse had said the other day. That I had suffered a loss. I thought about the word suffer and about the act or the state of suffering. About bearing the burden, about tolerating the pain, about learning to reconcile myself to this new, stark reality. The new and stark reality of being alone.

The fight had only confirmed what I'd sensed was happening between Wade and me. We were so alienated from each other. I felt as if he'd shoveled the tragedy onto my head, thrown it at me, and walked away. I felt as if I'd done something wrong and shameful and that that something now stood between Wade and me. The miscarriage hadn't bound us more closely. It had driven a wedge between us. I wondered, had the pregnancy started the process of tearing? Or had it simply accelerated a process already begun?

And if the pregnancy hadn't ended like it had, if the baby had been at full term, healthy and strong, would the truth about Wade and me never have come to light? Would we just have gone on side by side, never really touching, until death did we part? I'd never know, not for sure. And the fact was, I'd never really been able to imagine a family of three—Wade, a baby, me. I'd come to see me and the baby, the two of us, alone together and happy. But I'd failed to see Wade as part of the picture. A failure of imagination. Just another one of my many failures.

"I'm the first bad thing to happen to Wade." I said abruptly.

"What a horrible thing to say!" Elise cried, tossing the magazine aside.

"No, it's true. Wade has never failed at anything."

"Maybe he never tried hard enough to fail."

"No one close to him has died. His parents adore him. He's never been cut from a sports team or rejected from a club. Do you know he turned down the presidency of his fraternity's local chapter because he was too busy being president of some young businessmen's club?"

"And delegating his workload to his staff."

"Does it matter? Wade never asked anyone to marry him before me. And I said yes, immediately, no hesitation. Even then he'd won. And now…I just know he sees my miscarriage as my failure. I'm tainted and because I belong to him, he's tainted now in some way, too. And it's really upsetting him."

"And you still want to marry someone who finds you unacceptable because you're human?"

"Less than human. Damaged goods. A tarnished good luck charm."

"Answer the questions."

I looked at my friend. I could be wrong, I thought. I could be loading my own confused feelings of shame and failure onto Wade. But I knew I wasn't.

"I can't." I said and my voice was weak.

Elise's eyes held mine. I wanted to look away but I couldn't. "You can't answer the question or you can't marry him?"

I thought of John. I thought of his hand around a coffee cup, of his hand on my elbow. "I can't." It was all I could say.

"Are you giving me an ultimatum?"

I stood there, hands at my side, looking at the stranger who was my fiancé. "It's not an ultimatum. I just think that maybe we should go to counseling together. Because we're not talking about what happened."

Because we're falling apart and I don't know what to do about it. Wade had called earlier that morning. All of the fixtures in the master bathroom had been installed; the room was ready for painting. He wanted to know if I cared to see the mini marble palace. I told him that of course I wanted to see it. Hadn't we chosen the marble together at the stone yard?

He'd greeted me at the door to the loft with barely repressed hostility. "You're late."

"No, I'm not" I replied. And then I checked my watch. "Oh, I'm sorry, I am. My watch has slowed down. I'll replace the battery."

Wade stepped back to let me enter. "It's not good to keep people waiting."

"Yes." I said, wondering suddenly why I was really there. "I know." I admired the marble. I admired Wade's final choice of paint color. And then I suggested that we see a therapist.

"The whole idea is ridiculous." Wade said dismissively. "Therapy is not for people like us. At least, it's not for people like me."

"What does that mean?" I demanded. "Don't you want to work things out between us? Grief doesn't just go away, Wade. You can't just pretend everything's okay. You can't hide—"

"I'm not hiding anything."

Looking at Wade the, at his blandly handsome and oddly closed face, I believe he was telling the truth as he saw it.

I shook my head in amazement. "My life." I said. "Is becoming a soap opera."

"Only because you're letting it." Wade snapped. "Why are you doing this to me, Brianne? Why are you ruining everything?"

"I'm not ruining anything." I cried. What was there to ruin? A fantasy? A construct? The notion of a perfectly fine life? "This is life, Wade. Bad things happen for no good reason, for no reason at all. Stop blaming me."

Wade stalked out of the master bathroom. I followed him into the kitchen. And for the very first time I wondered if I was the great love of Wade's life. Was I really loved? I didn't have the nerve to ask.

"Do you realize this is the first time we've ever fought? Wade, we never even really talked until we lost the baby. I mean, really talked. About the big stuff."

Wade slapped his hands on the shiny counter. "What was there to talk about? Everything was fine. Everything still would be fine if—"Wade looked down at his hands.

"If what, Wade?"I said finally. "If I hadn't lost the baby? Or if I hadn't gotten pregnant in the first place?"

Wade continued to stare at his hands. "Never mind. Look my mother wants to have us for dinner this Sunday. Can I count on you to be there?"

"Can I count on you to talk to me about what's really going on between us?"

Wade said. "I'll pick you up at six."

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	32. Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-Two:

The last of the baby gifts had been returned with carefully worded notes of thanks. Even the awful sweater, the one that had afforded me some comfort just after the miscarriage, had gone back to Mrs. Barrett. The childbirth books and parenting magazine all were gone. There was nothing in my apartment to remind me of what had happened nothing except me.

I checked the clock over the stove. Wade was due in half an hour. I wasn't looking forward to seeing him, not really—how sad!—but I had to. One last time I had to try to reach him, try to make some connection to this person I was taking on as my life partner. Life partner, husband, those words had come to sound ugly, confining, murderous.

Our official engagement portrait, framed in Tiffany silver stood on a small table by the couch. I picked it up and studied our smiling faces, Wade's and mine. And try as I might I just couldn't recognize either of us, not really. The woman in the portrait wasn't me, not now. And the man..With a rush of anger I realized I had never known the man because there wasn't much of a man to know. All along I'd wanted to believe that there was more to Wade than met the eye. But I'd come to know there was less. Without care, I set the portrait down; it fell glass first onto the floor. I let it stay there.

The dreams. I thought about the dreams. Increasing blindness, loss of voice, choking, abandonment. Even if I could ask questions of Wade, would he be able to answer? Was he even capable of listening? I took a few deep breaths but my heart continued to race. Ten minutes. Wade would be at my door in ten minutes.

Wade wanted to know when we could start trying to get pregnant. Why had he assumed I wanted to get pregnant? And even if I did, wouldn't I need time to mourn the loss of our child? What, what was Wade thinking? I walked to the kitchen and poured a glass of wine. Wade was thinking nothing. Wade wasn't capable of real thought. Why, I wondered, couldn't Wade ever admit to being confused or distressed? Why, I wondered, couldn't Wade ever admit to being human?

I put the empty wine glass in the sink. I held my left hand before my face and studied my engagement ring, the sign of my commitment to Wade, the sign of my retirement from life. And everything was a mess. Wade blamed me for messing things up. He blamed me for bringing the sweaty chaos of life into his cold and ordered world. How, I wondered, could I ever trust him to be there in the hard times? How could I trust him to support me if I had a nervous breakdown, if I lost my self-confidence, if I got fat?

The doorbell rang and I calmly walked into the foyer and opened the door. "Hi." I said.

Wade hesitated a moment before stepping inside. "Hi"

We stood there in the foyer of my apartment, facing each other, too far apart to touch. "What did you want to see me about?" He asked. He wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Why did you stop having sex with me when I get pregnant?" I asked.

Wade didn't answer. His eyes darted back toward the door. I wondered if he was going to bolt.

"Was it because you found me disgusting? Or was it because you thought I was too precious? Pregnant women are women, Wade, they're people but maybe that's the problem"

"Brianne." Wade said angrily. "Stop."

"No, I won't stop. You don't like women very much, do you Wade? Not really."

"Don't be ridiculous, Brianne."

"Then answer the question. Why wouldn't you have sex with me?"

"Look." He said with some emotion. "I don't know, all right? Can we just drop it? What's done is done."

He was right. What had been done to us had been done to us. And this was what we were left with. Suddenly, we both seem to have lost steam. Wade leaned against the foyer wall. I sat heavily on the couch.

"Everything's that happened, Brianne." He said shaking his head. "I just don't know."

"It's okay Wade. I understand." But it seems that I didn't understand, not entirely.

Wade pushed away from the wall; his arms seem to hang loosely at his side. "Its just I want a family. I can't be with someone who doesn't want that I want. I want a family, Brianne."

"Since when? When did you decide you were a family man?"

"I've wanted a family for a while now. I mentioned the pill, the other day. Remember? But you didn't want to talk about it. You just don't want to be a mother and I can't live with that."

I looked at Wade's face and wanted to very much badly to slap it. Wade was even more obtuse than I had imagined. "All this time wasted. Why Wade? Why the big change of heart?"

"I want a family. Can you tell me you want the same?"

"I don't know Wade." I said honestly. "I can't make any promises right now, not to anyone. You see, I'm suffering."

"Okay. Fair enough." So, this is it, I guess. It's just over."

It was just over. There was no way to negotiate such a black and white issue. There was no way I could forgive him for his gross lack of understanding.

"Wade, you should go now." I slipped the engagement ring off my finger and took a step toward him. Then I held out my open palm and offered him the ring.

Wade's face was drawn, unhappy, tired. "Brianne, you don't"

"It doesn't belong to me anymore."I said and it didn't hurt at all.

Slowly Wade put out his hand and took the ring. When his fingers touched mine I felt nothing, no spark of desire or tenderness, nothing to make me take back my ring and in doing so, my life with Wade—and his children.

When he was at the door I said. "Wade? I'm sorry."

He didn't turn; his hand remained on the doorknob. "I'm sorry too, Brianne. I really am."

And then it was really over.

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	33. Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-Three:

The dismantling of our lives began. Wade and I agreed that family would hear a brief, sanitized version of the truth. Our story was this: We realized we just weren't right for each other. The end.

Our intentions were good but parents are parents. My father decided that Wade had left me cruelly and threatened to "have a talk" with him. My which he meant "punch him out" My mother lamented all the time and money she'd spent—now gone—on planning for various aspects of my life—wedding and baby—and in doing so made me feel even more like a dismal failure. What did I expect from her? Sympathy beyond a throw-away sentiment?

I never learned Mr. Barrett's reaction to the news of the disintegration of his younger son's wedding plans. I assume he said something to the effect of "There are a million girls out there. Forget about her."

Wade's mother, on the other hand, was very local with her feelings. I don't know for sure if Wade kept to our agreement, but even if he did it wouldn't have mattered. Some evil woman had broken her baby's heart, and she wasn't about to take that lying down.

First, there were the phone calls. I was smart enough—or just plain scared enough—not to answer the phone when her name appeared on the Caller ID screen. But I did listen to the messages, afterward. They were largely incoherent and always angry. After a while there were letter, and the real shocker, emails. I didn't know Mrs. Barrett had ever seen a computer up close, let alone knew how to use one.

Elise and I met for coffee late one afternoon a few weeks after the breakup. I told her about my angry ex-future-mother-in-law.

"Wow." She said. "I've never gotten hate mail. You'd expect someone like me would have, wouldn't you? I tend to make enemies."

I smiled weakly. "Nothing from Chris's soon-to-be-ex-wife?"

"Not yet. So, what does Wade's mommy say to you? You can omit the foul language."

"The worse she's called me is bitch. But it stings. Anyway, first she just yelled about how no one these days respects the sanctity of marriage."

"But you and Wade weren't even married yet!"

"I didn't say Mrs. Barrett has been coherent. Eventually, she got around to telling me in no uncertain terms that God was punishing me for losing the baby by taking away Wade, who she believes, is the best thing that will ever happen to me."

"My blood pressure is dangerously high at this moment. I want you to know that in case I spontaneously combust."

"Anyway, in a bizarre new twist she's decided that Wade and I should get back together. I know she's upset but—"

"But nothing." Elise said firmly. "It wasn't her relationship that broke up. Mrs. Barrett needs to get her own life and pronto."

"Well, I doubt that will ever happen. You know, from this perspective I am so glad she's not going to be my mother-in-law. I used to think she was harmless, if a little annoying. But now I see that as Wade's wife I would have been at her mercy for the rest of my life."

"Tell Wade to call off his mommy." Elise commanded.

"I don't think I should mention it to him."

"The woman is harassing you. I think you have to mention it to him. And make it very clear that you'll take legal action if she continues to invade your home via telephone, email and angry notes under the front door!"

"I can't press charges against the woman who was going to be my mother-in-law!"

"Why not? She's behaving like a criminal."

"Because it just wouldn't be right."

Elise looked utterly disgusted with me. "Okay, fine. If you won't' talk to Wade, then you have two choices left. Ignore the witch, but I don't see how you can do that when she's lurking in your hallway. Your second choice is to confront her."

"What if she screams at me and things get even worse?"

"Scream back. Things won't get worse if you scare the crap out of her."

"Could I send a letter? A sternly worded letter?"

"Only if it's copied to your attorney." Elise snapped in reply.

"I'll think about it." I said.

In the end, Mrs. Barrett backed off. Maybe it was seeing Wade getting on with his life that cooled her fury. Maybe it was learning that I'd returned the expensive diamond ring he'd bought me. Maybe she just got tired of coming into the city two or three times a week to stalk me.

Luckily, I hadn't yet sold my apartment. Wade owned what would have been our home together, so we each came out of the mess with a place to call our own.

The things we'd bought together for our new home caused some problems. What to do with the Eileen Gray reading lamp, the reupholstered 1930s art deco chair, the Eames coffee table? In the end Wade returned what could be returned and gave me a check for the items he kept. And then there were the gifts Wade have given me. There's something unbearably sad about a once cherished object suddenly devoid of personal meaning.

Mint chocolate chip ice cream. Reddi-wip. It would be so easy to reach for that container and that can, curl up on the couch and vegetate until a sugar coma sent me to dreamland. Too easy. Brianne, I told myself, you are not going to eat a pint of ice cream for dinner. You are getting out of this apartment and you are going somewhere for dinner.

I dressed and headed to a small neighborhood bistro. The bar was empty but for another woman at the far end, engrossed in a hardcover novel. We caught each other's eye as I pulled a stool away from the counter and shared a brief smile. And then John Cena walked through the door. John was the last person I wanted to see but also the only person. That was hard to admit.

"Hi." He said.

"Hi."

John grinned. "Your lack of enthusiasm speaks volumes. I know. I keep turning up, like a bad penny. Mind if I sit here?"

"Of course not."

"Good. I'm starved."

"And there's nothing in your fridge but rolls of film and batteries."

"Pretty much. But you forgot the one beer and a moldy burrito. Really should throw that thing out."

John ordered but I suddenly didn't feel hungry anymore. Well, I'm sure the hunger was still there; it was just temporarily buried under a layer of adolescent fluttering.

"You're not on a diet, are you? Everyone is on a crazy diet these days."

"No, I'm not on a diet. I'm just not very hungry." I wondered if John knew that Wade and I had broken up. I figured he probably did. Someone had told him about the miscarriage. Why not about the breakup? "So, I suppose you heard the news?"

"What news?"

"My life." I said.

"What?"

"My life has blown up." I held my left hand in front of my face.

John shook his head. "What am I supposed to be looking at?"

"No ring." I said. "No fiancé. Wade and I broke up. We're not getting married. In fact, I'm pretty sure we're not even speaking. We're not doing anything together anymore."

"That's why you're here alone." He said finally.

"Yep. I kind of thought you already knew. About Wade and me."

"Are you okay?" He asked after a moment or two. "Life's been giving you a tough time lately, hasn't it."

"I guess so. It could be worse. And no, I'm not okay but I will be.

"Regrets?"

I looked John right in the eye. "None. The relationship just wasn't right. We just weren't right. You know?"

Do you really want me to reply to that? Because I'm going to have to say. Yes, I do know. I knew all along."

I wondered, was I the only one who hadn't known all along? At least you haven't said, 'I told you so'"

John grinned. "I think I just did. Seriously, Brianne, I'm sorry."

I smiled brightly, falsely. "Better now than after the wedding, right?"

"It's still got to hurt."

I abandoned the smile. It certainly hadn't fooled John. "Oh, yes, it hurts. And well, I'm also a bit embarrassed. How could I have been so wrong?"

"That's a waste of time." John's tone was final. "Being embarrassed about being human just proves how ridiculous human beings really are."

"That's what Elise says."

"You should listen to Elise. Since you don't listen to me."

I did listen to Elise. She found John inappropriate. She thought he was good for me. "I do listen to you." And for the first time I realized just how true that was. And then the air around us was filled with sexual tension. At least, I thought it was.

John tossed some bills on the bar and got up from the barstool. "I've got to go."

"Oh." I said. "Are you sure? Can't you stay for just a bit?"

"I can't. I still have some work to do before tomorrow. We've got the Gott debacle in a few days."

"I'll get it all done."I said with a touch of annoyance. "You'll have the final seating plan and layout. Don't worry."

"I never worry."

"I don't believe you."

"At least about you doing your job."

"Thanks."

I watched as John loped off into the evening. Always moving never still. Except when he looked. To really see requires stillness. I wondered, had anyone ever pinned down John Cena even for a little while? Maybe John couldn't be pinned down. Maybe it would be unfair of anyone to try.

Anyway, that's not really what I wanted, to pin John down.

The bartender nodded toward my empty wine glass. "Another?"

"Sure. And I'll take a menu, please."

I glanced once again out the window but John was long gone. So, Brianne, I asked myself. What is it you do want with John?

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	34. Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty-Four:

"How can a cookie be healthy?" Carrie peered dubiously at the plate of homemade no-fat cookies Jamie had just placed on the table.

Elise grimaced. "Don't tell us. I don't want to know when I'm eating fern spores and acorn shavings."

"Just try one." Jamie said. "Aren't you supposed to be the adventurous one here?"

The Chinese food arrived before Elise could reply.

"What more does a girl need?" Carrie said as we unpacked the three large white bags. "Look at all this scrumptious food. Ted's not big on Asian cuisine. I don't remember the last time I had dim sum! Let's go to Chinatown some Sunday morning, okay?"

"A day at a world-class spa." Elise said suddenly. "That's what else a girl needs. No, make that a week, but not at one of those places that serves a lettuce leaf and a boiled Brussels sprout for dinner. A place that serves croissants for breakfast, truffle omelet's for lunch, and bouillabaisse for dinner."

"Speaking of things French." Jamie said. "A girl could use a month-long trip to Paris, with all expenses paid by a wealthy benefactor she never has to meet, let alone sleep with."

Elise laughed. "Now that is a fantasy beyond the realm of ordinary fantasy. No sex in return for a fabulous meal of coq au vin, foie gras, and Grand Marnier soufflé?"

"What about you, Carrie?" I asked. "You must think a girl needs something beyond sesame noodles and beer."

Carrie considered. "Can I say a wonderful husband and kids she adores?"

Suddenly, everyone's eyes were on me. "You can say anything you want."

Carrie grasped my hands in hers. "Can I also say that even more than sesame noodles and beer a girl needs her girlfriends?"

"Ugh, this is so disgustingly maudlin and we haven't even begun to drink! Quick, hand me the corkscrew."

What about you, Brianne?" Jamie asked tossing the corkscrew to Elise.

"Stick to the fantasy." Elise advised, handing me a glass of chilled Pinot Grigio.

"I think a girl needs all of it. Chinese food, girlfriends, a spa, and a trip to Paris. And when she comes home, a wonderful husband and maybe even adoring children waiting breathlessly for her at the airport."

"Hear, hear!" Jamie raised her glass and we toasted.

Elise grinned. "Our former so-called friend Kristen would say a girl needs wild sex and lots of it."

"What do you mean by wild?" Carrie asked.

"Passionate." Jamie said. "And yes, I've certainly had passionate sex."

"With your husband?"

"Elise!" Carrie exclaimed. "That's so personal!"

"That's okay." Jamie said. "Yes, I have had passionate sex with Randy. But there were a few other special men in my past. In case you're wondering, I wouldn't trade Randy for the world, let alone one more night with the others."

"Well." Carrie said. "If Jamie can admit to having passionate sex with her husband, then I can admit to having passionate sex with mine. Ted is the love of my life."

"But not your first and lonely lover?" Elise asked.

"No. There were two before him but neither really meant anything. And I never, you know, felt anything. And that's all I'm saying about that!"

"Elise?" Jamie asked. "Wild sex?"

"Oh, my yes. Once upon a time."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"On, come on, Elise. Tell us about him." Carrie pressed. "Were you in love?"

"I've said all I'm going to say. Brianne, what about you? Have you ever had wild, crazy, nothing's-off-limits sex? The kind of sex that makes you feel like you've died and gone to heaven. Otherworldly, astounding, addictive sex."

"I get the picture." I said dryly. "And the answer is no. Okay, everyone can feel sorry for me now. My life is an empty shell. My romantic life at least."

"Oh." Carrie said. "You know, Brianne, there's more to life than sex."

"So, I've been told. But alas! I've yet to find satisfaction anywhere."

"That doesn't surprise me." Elise said. "I never thought Wade was right for you."

"Can we just stop talking about my ex? I don't want to dwell on my past."

Right." Carrie agreed. "You should be focusing on your future. You should be thinking about falling in love again."

"I have a feeling." Elise said slyly. "That Brianne's already working on it."

Carrie's eyes went wide. Jamie cleared her throat.

"Falling in love is the last thing on my mind!" I protested. And I knew that none of my friends believed me. Truth: Falling in love was the only thing on my mind.

A few days later, I met Elise for a drink at Polar. "This is on me. Consider yourself my therapist for the next hour."

"Fine." Elise picked up the menu. "Hmm, what's most expensive?"

"I don't' care. Order everything. Order two of everything. What I've got on my mind outweighs any concern about my entertainment budget."

"You've got my full attention."

"I like John Cena." I said. "Like as in—"

Elise raised her hand to stop me. "I know what you mean. Well, all I can say is it's about time."

"I don't know what you mean."I lied, utterly relieved.

"Brianne, it's been obvious to me for some time now that you 'like' John. I'm not blind."

"Then why didn't you say something?"

"Brianne, dear, I did say something. I said several things, on several occasions. At times you chose not to understand what I was hinting at—"

"See, that was the problem! You just didn't come right out and—"

"And at other times you took offense at what I was implying. Anyway, it wasn't my job to break up your engagement. That was your job."

"Hey—"

"You know what I mean, Brianne."

"What if he's seeing someone?"

"He's not."

"How do you know that?"

"I have my ear to the ground. And John and I talk. Sometimes. And no, I'm not going to play matchmaker for you. You're going to have to deal with this situation on your own."

"What if John is just a rebound?" I asked suddenly. "What if I'm only interested in him because I'm upset about breaking up with Wade? What if I'm into John just because he's there?"

"Brianne, you have got to stop thinking so much and just act. Talk to John. Jump him. Do something. Besides, your feelings for John are real. They have nothing to do with a rebound."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because there has to have been something against which to bound. What I mean is, you and Wade had nothing. Not really. How can you react against an experience you never experienced?"

"That's a horrible thing to say." I said. "And yes, I do know what you're getting at, even if your language skills seemed to have failed you. Wade and I were a couple for almost a year. We were engaged. Of course we had something! We had a relationship."

"Not much of one. Admit it, Brianne. You were sleepwalking through that so-called relationship. It never really touched you. Not where it counts. Look, you're so much more than Wade. It might have worked if he'd known that and appreciated it. But Wade never could see you for all you are. It's just not in him. And because of that the relationship was, well, it wasn't much of anything."

I knew Elise had a point. And it infuriated me "I can't believe you're dismissing a year of my life! How dare you?" Did I ever tell you that you were wasting your time waiting around for some married man to dump his wife and appear on your doorstep? Wait a minute. How could I have? You never told me about Chris, not until I dragged it out of you. You were lying to me about your love life."

"I was keeping a secret. That's not a crime."

"Well, maybe it should be. Friends shouldn't have secrets from each other. I thought you were one person, and then I found out you were someone else entirely."

"You've conveniently gotten away from the topic. Look, I'm sorry about what I said. Yes, you and Wade had a relationship and it was real. Fine. But my original point still stands. You're over thinking this thing with John. You're not trusting your feelings and how can you? You've never done it before, you have no practice. Your decision to marry Wade was made with your head, not your heart."

"I loved Wade."

"You knew all along I didn't think Wade was the one for you. So what? Nothing's changed. Why get mad at me now?"

Why indeed? Because now that Wade and I were over there was nothing tangible in the way of my reclaiming my life—or maybe claiming it for the first time. There was nothing tangible in the way of my pursuing a relationship with John Cena. There was nothing in the way of my future but my fears. And they seemed very tangible.

"I'm not mad at you." I mumbled.

"Yes, you are." She said. "But that's okay. I can be horrible." Elise reached for her bag. "Look, honey, I think I'll just go straight to Chris's now. Do yourself a favor and think about what I've said."

I watched as Elise left the restaurant, on her way to meet her lover. I almost hated her at that moment. Almost.

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	35. Chapter 35

Chapter Thirty-Five:

"Brianne."

"Hmm?"

"Remember I told you about the San Francisco offer?"

"The what?" I was at John's studio. We were reviewing the success that had been the Gott event.

"The San Francisco offer." He said. "I told you about it last month."

I thought for a moment. "Vaguely." There had been so much going on in my life; some days I didn't trust myself to remember my own name. "You did mention something. Why?"

"Well, it's going through. I'm going through with it."

I felt my stomach drop, my world bottoming out. I leaned back against the worktable and gripped its edge with both hands.

"Going through with what?" I said past the sudden roar in my head. "What are you talking about?"

John attempted a grin. "And you accuse me of not listening. I'm moving to the West Coast in about three weeks. I'm joining up with a small photography group. Look, I can hook you up with a good photographer in Boston so you won't be left high and dry."

"I know other photographers." I snapped. "I don't need your connections. Why, John? Why are you leaving?"

"It's not so much that I'm leaving Boston as that I'm going to San Francisco. I'm starting over."

"Mid-life crisis?" I spat and immediately regretted my words and their tone.

"If it makes you happy to think so." He replied coldly.

"It doesn't. I'm sorry. I just don't understand."

"Do you have to?"

"I'm your friend. I would like to understand."

"Maybe there is nothing to understand." He said. "Maybe I'm just going. No big motivation. Just time for a change of scenery."

"I'll believe that the day I get a tattoo of George W. on my forehead. Don't be an ass, John."

For a while the conversation went dead. John swiveled back to his computer; I stood and stared at the wall. Why, I thought desperately, hadn't I told him how I feel? Maybe it would have made him stay in Boston. But maybe it wouldn't have. If John didn't have feelings for me in return—and it was clear he didn't, since he was planning to move across country in just over two weeks!—what would I have gained by revealing my secret? Nothing except embarrassment. I looked then at the back of John's head. I could tell him now, I thought. I could ask him not to go. I could be him…

John swore under his breath, damning Photoshop, which had just crashed again. And then I thought, Face it, Brianne, it's too late. You missed your chance. You can't tell John now that you're in love with him. It would be totally unfair. He's made his plans. Don't make a mess of everything.

"What about your work?" I said, suddenly. "Your own work. What about that project you're working on, those nudes I saw?"

"What about them?"

"Don't be obtuse. I thought—"

John looked over his shoulder at me. "You thought what?"

I threw my hands in the air and groaned. I think it was the first time I'd ever done that. "I don't know what I thought. I guess I thought you might be spending more time on your own work and less on the business. But I guess you can't do that when you're starting up with a new group."

John swiveled around to me again and shrugged. "I guess not."

"What is it then?" I challenged. "Do you have friends in San Francisco?"

"No."

"Family?"

"No. I've never even been there."

I put my fingers to my temples as if I had a headache. It was another unfamiliar dramatic gesture. Where were they coming from? "You're relocating to a city you've never even visited! John, that's insane!"

John waited a beat before replying. "Brianne." He said calmly. "People in San Francisco speak English. California is part of the United States of America. It's not as if I'm moving to some remote Maui village."

"But what if you hate it? What if you get out there and start the new job and buy an apartment and then, suddenly, you find yourself pining for the Northeast?"

John laughed. "First of all, I'm not the pining type. Second, if I hate San Francisco, and I don't think I will, I'll either suck it up or move on."

I think I might have gone temporarily insane. "I get it." I said, with the same conviction as if I'd just discovered, without a doubt, that the Earth was round. "There's an old girlfriend. That's why you're going to San Francisco. To win back the only woman you ever loved."

"John looked at me with a strange expression on his face. "Nothing could be further from the truth." Once again he turned back to his computer.

"Don't ask me to be supportive of this, John."

Without looking away from his work John said. "I'm not asking you for anything, Brianne."

I left shortly after. John had made it perfectly clear. It didn't matter what I thought. He was going whether I liked it or not.

Maybe, I thought, I should get an aquarium. The companionship might be nice. Or maybe even that small, nondestructive dog Wade and I had considered adopting. Someone to greet me each morning. Someone to love. But it wasn't in me then to make the commitment. Face it, Brianne, I told myself. The fish will up and die and the dog will up and run away, and you'll be left all alone to mourn. Again. And I was so, so tired of loss.

Loss. I had to come to terms with the fact that John was leaving or go insane. Desperate time call for desperate measures. I burst into the studio. The door swung back against the wall with a metallic crash.

"You used to call before you came by." John said laconically, over his shoulder.

I did used to call, I realized. I used to do a lot of things differently. "I have an idea and I want you to hear me out before you say no. Okay? Please?"

John saved whatever it was he was working on and swiveled around in his chair to face me. "Fine. What's your idea?"

"I'd like to mount a show, something small but important."

"And?" John grinned up at ma annoyingly. "What does that have to do with me?"

"Don't be dense." I snapped. "I want to mount a show of your work. Some older works, some new; I'll leave the content up to you and I don't know a lot about hanging photographs, but I'll learn or I'll hire someone to hang the show. I want to do this, John. A show before you leave Boston. Think of it as a farewell if you want, I don't care. What do you think?"

John was unnaturally still. It almost frightened me. I continued to stand before him, although it was tempting to collapse into a chair.

"I leave in two weeks." He said finally.

"I know. It won't be easy. I have to get a space first and—"

"I'm not good at being the center of attention."

I smiled. At least he hadn't said no, yet. "So be the socially awkward artist and stand in the corner."

John twisted the mechanical pencil he held in his hands. "Brianne, look, give me some time to think about this."

My enthusiasm deflated. The adrenaline just flooded from my body. "You mean no thanks."

"I mean, give me some time to think about this."

"We don't have a lot of time—"

John cut me off. "I'm aware. And I know you're aware of the fact that if you push me you'll only damage your cause."

"I know." I said. "I'm sorry." I checked my watch, unnecessarily. I had no other place I needed to be. "Look, I've got to run. Just let me know."

Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I thought as I clumped down the metal stairs to the lobby. Only weeks ago my life was all planned out. Now? I had no idea what was to become of me or of my life. The phone rang at eleven o'clock that night. It was John. I hesitated to take the call. Why not let voice mail record John's negative answer for me? And then I lifted the receiver.

"Hi." I said flatly.

"Okay."

Truly, it took a moment for this to register. "What? You mean yes, you'll let me do this? You let me put together a show for you?"

"That's what 'okay' means. Yes. Go ahead. Just answer this one question for me."

"Okay."

"This show is partly for you too, isn't it?"

"Yes," I admitted. "It is." I waited for John to mock. He didn't.

"So," He asked. "What's next?"

"You mean, what's first. I've got so much to do!"

"Leave me out of the details, okay? Like should we have beer and wine and should we have a fruit platter or just cheeses. You make the decisions."

"You won't be sorry, John."

Finally, he laughed. "Yeah. I've head that before."

"I mean it."

There was a beat of silence before John said. "I know you do."

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	36. Chapter 36

Chapter Thirty-Six:

Some people are at their best when busy. Some people flourish under pressure. Some people produce their best work when a deadline is barreling toward them. Some people rise to the occasion when their budget for a project is tight and coming out of their own pocket. By the following afternoon, I'd rented a space in Teele Square, Somerville from a friend of a friend of a friend; talked to the caterer; put together a preliminary guest list; got Roland Kelly to be John's assistant; considered where and how to advertise; and begun to draft a press release.

By seven that evening I was exhausted and happy and eager for Elise to arrive with Thai food. When she did, I told her about John's plan to leave town and about the show I'd decided to mount. Elise carefully patted her mouth with a napkin before responding.

"Why are you doing this?"

I poked at the remains of my dinner and contemplated an answer. Did I really think John would be so grateful for my belief in him as an artist that he would fall madly in love with me and decide to stay in Boston? Yes, no. Mounting the show was a scheme, though not a very complicated one. I just didn't have the nerve to tell John how I felt. I just didn't have the nerve to hear what he might have to say in return.

"I thought you were the one who told me I should tell John how I feel."

"Tell him, not trick him."

"I'm not tricking him."

"But you're not being honest with him. And your motives aren't entirely altruistic. Not that anyone's ever are. Still, Brianne, I'm worried you're setting yourself up for heartache."

"I don't have any illusions. Really. I know this is silly. But it's all I can do, Elise. It's all I can do."

"I'll help you in any way I can." She said hugging me. "I'll tell my clients they just can't miss this show. Whatever you need."

"Thanks."

Elise left. It was only eight o'clock and there was plenty of work to be done, but suddenly I felt drained of all energy. I crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. I was asleep within minutes.

"Everything's in place for tomorrow night. At the risk of jinxing the show, I think it's going to be a success."

John grimaced. "You're not superstitious are you?"

"No. It was just something to say. I'm tired." John and I had worked on the show until ten; now we were sitting at a corner table in the almost empty bistro, finally ordering dinner.

"You should be exhausted. Have you slept at all in the past week?"

"Surprisingly yes." I admitted. The bad dreams were temporarily in abeyance. "By the way, have you ever given an interview?"

"Who would want to know about how I like my eggs or what brand of detergent I use?"

"You don't use detergent. You take your laundry out. And don't be silly. I mean, have you ever given an interview about your work?'

John considered. "Yes, I think so. There was some small rag and I was just out of college. I don't remember."

"You don't have a copy of the interview?"

"I doubt it."

"Oh. I have a clippings file that dates back to when I was in the Girl Scouts and my troop put on a play at the local senior center. Does that sound pathetic?"

John laughed. "Only slightly. But why the sudden interest in interviews?"

"There's going to be a reporter at the show tomorrow night and I'm working on setting up a full-length interview with the arts editor of an important magazine. I'm not telling you which magazine until I've got the interview nailed down, so don't ask."

John took a long swallow of his beer. "Fine. I'm not looking forward to any publicity but I'll do as you command. So, have you ever given an interview?"

"No. Not really. Just silly quotes about an event. Like, the reporter from the society pages says, 'How do you think the party is going?' And I answer, 'It's just wonderful, everyone is having a marvelous time, the food is just great, and the music has everyone on their feet."

"That's disgusting."

"I know. I'm ashamed of myself. But it's my job. A dirty business but somebody's got to do it and all. Pour me more wine?"

John did and then said. "So, would you want to be interviewed by some serious publication?"

I laughed. "Oh no! Besides, who would want to interview me? I've done nothing noteworthy."

"In this day and age you don't have to do anything even remotely noteworthy to make the cover of People."

"Well, that's true. But is People a serious publication? I'm sure it makes serious money but it isn't exactly the New Yorker."

"The New Yorker isn't exactly the New Yorker anymore." John noted. "Get, the food's here."

Neither of us spoke until we'd eaten enough to take the edge off.

"I feel human again. Almost. And stay away from my fries."

John withdrew his hand from my plate. "How about I interview you right now? Just for fun."

"Whatever as long as I can chew while I talk."

"Deal. Okay. Tell me about your expectations."

I frowned. "I thought you were going to ask me questions like, what's my favorite movie."

"I'm not pretending to work for a dating service. I'm pretending to work for a serious publication. So, talk to me about expectations."

"I don't know what you mean by expectations. Do you mean the things everyone expects without realizing they're expecting them? Like enough food to eat and a roof overhead, the things everyone takes for granted but shouldn't?"

"Do you really expect a roof over your head?"

"No."I admitted. "Not since I've had to earn my own living."

"I didn't think so. I don't think you take much for granted. That opinion is the reporter editorializing, of course."

"Of course."

"Okay." John said then. "What about hopes and dreams?"

"You're sure you don't want to know my favorite color? My favorite flavor of ice cream?"

"Pink and Mint Chocolate Chip."

I felt weak with desire. John's hand on the table was inches from mine. "Oh I mean, I don't know. I had fantasies, when I was a little girl."

"This reporter would like to know about those fantasies."

"They're pretty silly." I said noticing he moved his chair closer.

"Tell me."

"Well, when I was a little girl I fantasized about living in a big castle on a windswept moor. Or on a cliff overlooking the sea. With a stable of horse." John hadn't laughed. He was looking at me. "It was all stuff from the books I was reading. I'm sure lots of little girls were fantasizing about castles and horses and princes landing on the shore in beautiful ships."

"So. Do you think the fantasies were really about romance?"

How, I wondered, had we gotten on this wonderful, dangerous topic? "I don't think so. I think they were mostly about escape. Escape from my real world."

"Was your real world so terrible?"

"No. My real world was boring. I'm embarrassed to admit I fantasized about a life of difficulty and distress."

"Why should you be embarrassed? You were just a kid."

"I know but then you grow up and realize that too many little girls are living real nightmares and that they'd give anything to live in a safe and boring world. If they can even imagine a world without mayhem and murder."

"This is a side of you I haven't seen before. Do your thoughts always turn to darkness?"

"Of course not. At least, I don't think so."

"So, what do you do for drama in your adult life?"

"Oh, I rent movies like Rebecca and Wuthering Heights and Possession. You know, I'm always so busy I don't really have time for…"

"So what did you want to be when you grew up?"

"Nothing in particular. I wasn't sure I had the brains for law or medicine or banking. I stumbled on event planning."

"That's it?"

"That's it. I'm a pretty simple person, really. Either simple or very dull."

"You're not dull, Brianne. But at the risk of pissing you off, let me just say this. You don't live on the fumes of other people's lives. In the end you'll still be left with your own life. You'll be all alone, just you and yourself. Other people don't owe you anything. They're not responsible for filing up those empty spaces inside. You are."

"Are you trying to convince yourself of that or me?"

John grinned. "Both."

The waiter appeared, put the check on the table and glided away. "They're throwing us out." I said reaching for my bag.

"This is on me." John tossed a credit card onto the table.

The night was almost over. John would pay the bill and we'd each go home to our separate apartments.

"What about the one you marry?" I asked boldly.

"What about the one you marry?"

"You were talking about being all alone with your life. So what about your life partner? Aren't' you responsible to each other? Aren't you supposed to complete each other? Isn't that what soul mate is all about?"

"I don't think you're supposed to do anything or supposed to be anything in particular for anyone else. Love is a gift; it has no reasons, it just is. You love someone that's it, you can't help it. That's fact. Love isn't hard to do. Liking someone all time, now that can be hard."

I thought of the things about Wade that had driven me crazy, like the way he peeled an apple before eating it because he didn't want apple skin getting caught between his teeth. Would that habit have bothered me less if I'd been in love with Wade?

John went on. "You can get pissed off at her for spending too much money or hate the way he picks his nose when he thinks you're not looking, but you still love the one you love. Love is big. Still, it's not big enough to be someone else's soul. The term is soul mate, meaning companion, best friend for life. Mate implies two people. Two complementary people."

"Elise says much the same things about love."

"You know what they say about great minds."

I laughed and looked back to him. "That's lame. Even for you."

"I know I'm tired too."

We left the bistro and without consultation began to walk in the direction of John's studio. Wade, I thought, was not my complement. He was not my soul mate. He was not the great love of my life. But it didn't matter anymore, did it? Because Wade and I were history, we were the past. John's arm brushed mine. I didn't want to be a Miss Havisham. I didn't want to rot away. I wanted to grasp my present.

I stopped. John stopped too. We stood face to face. And then I kissed him, right on the mouth, and he kissed me back.

"Hello." He said when we pulled away.

"I want you to come back to my apartment."I said. "Or I'll go with you to yours, it doesn't matter. I want us to be together, John, just tonight, just this once. And look, if you don't want to, okay, fine, you don't, don't, don't tell me you're too tired or I really think I'll go medieval on you. I really do. No stupid excuses, just a simple no will do."

John put his hands on my arms and pulled me closer again. "Of course I want to, Brianne. I've wanted to for a long time. Believe me. But… you've been through so much lately…I don't want you to—"

"John." I said. "I know what I want and what I can handle. How many times do I have to tell you not to think for other people? You act so mind-numbingly superior sometimes—"

John grinned. "And you still want to have sex with me?"

"Yes."

"Then I'd better stop arguing."

We went to his apartment and spend the whole night together. It was the most passionate night I had ever had. Something I knew I would remember even if it never happened again.

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	37. Chapter 37

Chapter Thirty-Seven:

"Looks like the show is quite a success." Elise was smashing in a silk sheath in lime green. "Congratulations, Brianne."

If the turnout was any indicator, the show was a success. The space was jammed with people; some were even waiting outside to squeeze in when others left. Best, it was a varied crowd, well-heeled suburbanites and art school kids—people from Back Bay, the South End, and Somerville.

"I think you should be congratulating, John." I said, "Not me. It's his work that brought people here."

"Don't be modest. I can't stand false modesty in a friend. You know you're the one responsible for this show. Without you, John would be off shooting a retirement dinner in Framingham right now."

I laughed. "Okay, okay. So, I'm partly responsible for the crowd. But let's not count our chicken before they hatch."

"Dear, sensible, Brianne. Has he made any sales yet?"

I nodded. "A few. But the night's young. Anyway, the sales aren't as important tonight as the exposure."

"Never underestimate the importance of sales." She said. And then she looked at me closely. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." I lied.

"You look, I don't know, different. John's still leaving tomorrow?" I nodded. I didn't trust myself to speak. Elise took my hand and gave it a squeeze. "Hang in. I've got to go and join Chris."

For a moment I stood alone, listening to the excited talk and exuberant laughter of the crowd. I imagined the good reviews in the next day's paper. I thought of the interview I'd set up for John with an important art magazine out of New York, an interview he'd be doing via phone. Because the next day John would be on a plane to San Francisco and his new life. My heart constricted. It seemed wrong that we wouldn't be sharing his triumph, his time in the sun, his fifteen minute of fame.

His first fifteen minutes of fame. Because I was sure that with hard work, inspiration, and a little luck, John was going to go far. And I wouldn't be there with him. My plan had failed. In truth it hadn't been much of a plan. Still, I'd had hopes. I thought of the previous night at John's loft and was flooded again with desire. At least, I thought, I have one spectacular night of passion to savor for the rest of my life. The trick would be to prevent an ecstatic memory from decaying into a bitter one. It would be a very difficult trick to pull off.

"Hi!'

I whirled to see Jamie smiling up at me.

"Oh hi! I'm glad you made it."

"Actually Randy and I have been here for about a half hour. It's such a mob scene it took me forever to find you."

"Do you think people are enjoying themselves?"

Jamie swatted my arm. "You know they are. So, how long has Elise been seeing this new guy? She just introduced Randy and me."

"Um." I said eloquently. "I think she knew him a long time ago. But things just got romantic, I guess."

Jamie nodded. "He seems nice. I'm happy for her. I mean, she seems somehow, I don't know, lighthearted. Well, as lighthearted as Elise will ever be."

"So, what do you think of John's work? Be honest, but not too honest."

"I like it, Brianne. And Randy's working up the nerve to spend a thousand dollars on the piece in the far corner, the bit one of the ancient glass jar."

"Oh, he's not buying something just to be nice, is he?"

"Randy?" Jamie laughed. "The man who considers the pros and cons of every major purchase for weeks before acting? No. He wants the piece as a gift for me. For us, I suppose."

"Ah, I knew I liked Randy." I said. A financially responsible man who also liked to give his wife gifts? Randy was every woman's dream. What's the occasion?"

Jamie suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Brianne, I know this is not the right time to tell you this, I know that you're busy, but…"

"Jamie, look around. Everyone's having a fine time. No one needs me, for the moment at least."

"I'm pregnant."

"Wow, that's great."

"Thank you. Randy and I are very happy." She smiled.

"That's great, Jamie, I'm very happy for you."

"Thank you. Well I should be getting back to him. Congratulations, Brianne."

I watched Jamie moved away and head to Randy. I was happy for her. She had wanted a baby for so long and now they she was having one. I just couldn't stop my mind from going to the baby I lost. I looked over and saw my former fiancé.

"What's wrong, Brianne?" He said by the way of greeting.

"Nothing. I'm just a bit surprised to see you here."

"Why?" he asked ingenuously.

Why? Where should I begin? With the fact that he thought John Cena not worth serious consideration as a person, let alone as an artist?

"I thought you weren't interested in art photography."

Wade shrugged. "I'm not really."

"Then why…"

I wondered, did Wade know I was going to be here? Did he come to the opening to talk to me? And then anxiety struck. Did Wade, I wondered, know about last night? Was he here to accuse me of having been in love with John Cena all along?

"A business associate." Wade said. "He's over by that big picture of a fence. Or whatever it is. He's really into this sort of thing. We're just stopping by before dinner at Shantung."

I smiled, relieved. Of course Wade didn't know about last night. "Well then. I hope your business associate enjoys the show."

Wade glanced around at the crowded room. "This place is mobbed."

"I did it." I said. "This is my event."

"Oh." Wade seemed genuinely surprised. "I assumed you were here because you had to be. I mean because you work with Cena." Wade then scanned me from head to toe. "You look great, Brianne. Is that a new dress?"

"No."I told him. "I wore it once before." Just after you and I announced our engagement, I told him silently. We went to dinner and the symphony.

"Ah. Well it looks new. Unfamiliar. You look different. You're probably wearing your hair differently." He looked around. "So you're feeling okay? I mean health wise."

"I'm fine. I'm perfectly healthy. Thank you for asking."

Suddenly the expression on Wade's face grew serious. "Brianne, I've been thinking. Maybe we gave up too easily. You know, everything happening so fast…"

"Wade. Please, it wasn't going to work. We both know that."

And suddenly I knew that Wade didn't completely know that. "We were good together, Brianne We had fun."

"Until the big stuff came along. And then look what happened. Instead of turning to each other we turned away. If the pregnancy hadn't happened, something else would have come along soon enough and we'd be filing for divorce. It was better in the end that things ended when they did."

Wade shook his head. "Then why do I feel so bad?"

I smiled ruefully. What could I say?

"I miss you, Brianne. Do you miss me?"

"No Wade. I don't miss you. At first I missed some of the fantasy we built around our relationship. You know the glamorous life we were going to lead. The spectacular loft. Month-long vacations in Europe. The best restaurant. But not you, Wade. I don't miss you. I never really had you. How can I miss what I never had?"

"I see. I shouldn't have bothered saying hello tonight. I'm leaving." He immediately walked away from me.

"I wish you happiness Wade." He didn't wish me anything in return.

"I haven't seen you all night." John said when I caught his eye from across the room.

"That's a good thing. It's means you were a hit."

"Not me. The work. And I wouldn't assume it was a hit just because there were a lot of people gawking at it. I'm sure some of them hated it."

"Okay, okay. Can't you just accept a compliment?"

John grinned. "Obviously not."

"Look you need to say goodbye to this final wave of admirers."

"Do I have to? I don't even know that brunch."

"Don't crap out on me now, John. Just another half hour or so."

"Okay, you're right. I'm going."

I watched as John greeted the well-wishers; I watched as they touched his arm and leaned in close, eager to have a part of him. Oh, I thought, now I know what it means to be heartbroken.

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	38. Chapter 38

Chapter Thirty-Eight:

"I'll lock up. Go home, get some sleep. You've got to catch that flight."

Jack hopped up onto the empty drinks table. "No, I don't."

"What?" I was bone tired; it was two o'clock in the morning. It was understandable that I questioned my hearing.

"I cancelled it."

"You what?"

"I cancelled my flight to the West Coast."

"What does that mean? That you're not going today but you're going next week? And why are you grinning like that?"

"No, Brianne. It means that I'm not going to all. And I'm grinning because I'm happy. Is that all right with you?"

"Yes, fine, of course. But what about your new job?"

John's grin got even wider. "I quit yesterday morning. Well, as soon as it was morning in San Francisco. The partners weren't please, but I have a good lawyer. He'd built in a sort of escape clause in my contract and—enough of the boring details. I'm out of the agreement."

"Oh, So.." So, last night, I thought, last night, when we were together, John knew he wouldn't be leaving town…

"And I cancelled the moving company. They weren't going to ship my stuff out until next week anyway, so it was no big deal."

"It's not like you'd even packed."I said.

John laughed. "How did you know I hadn't packed?"

"Good guess."

And something Elise had said weeks earlier came to me then. Life, she'd exclaimed, was deliciously uncertain. At the time I'd thought she was being overly dramatic. But now? Look before you leap, Brianne.

It was too late for that, especially after the previous night at John's. It was time to throw every last bit of caution to the wind.

"John." I said. "I love you. I'm in love with you and I have been for a long time only I didn't understand what it all meant. My feelings, I mean. I've never been good with feelings."

John hopped off the table and took a step toward me. "Brianne, I—"

"Wait. You don't have to say anything you don't mean. Not that you would, of course, but I'll be okay. I mean, I never assumed you felt the same way about me. You don't have to feel any obligation to me or—"

John took another step toward me. "Brianne, will you shut up, please?"

"All right but—"

And then he was just a foot away from me, and then less. "Why the hell do you think I'm staying here in Boston? Because I love the Red Sox?"

"Because of your work?" I whispered. I didn't dare to believe what I thought might be happening.

"Right." John laughed. "People get married in every city, Brianne. People have birthdays and retirement dinners and Sweet Sixteen parties." He kissed me then and I knew. "Brianne, I'm staying here because of you. I need to be near you. I love you. Why do you think I was skipping town in the first place? I couldn't stand to see you every day and know I couldn't be with you."

"And that I was married to Wade." I said.

"Oh, yeah, that too."

"You just said you love me."

"I did, Brianne, you don't let me get away with being the guy who avoids his own life. I know it sounds selfish; it is selfish. I get so much from you. What do you get from me? I mean it. I'm not fishing for compliments here. But really, give me a clue."

I smiled. "Let's see, where should I begin? You don't let me get away with being a woman who avoids her own life. You're never boring. You've got a gorgeous face. Your hands are magic. You make me feel things I've never felt before. You—"

"Stop, you're embarrassing me. I mean, I'm a guy and I've got a guy's big delicate ego, but enough is enough. I'll be unbearable."

"You're already unbearable. It's part of your charm." Then the enormity of what John had done finally hit me. "You didn't know if I felt the same way and yet you quit your job just like that. You took a huge chance, John. You're crazy."

"Look who's talking. You're getting to be more of a loud pushy broad every day. First you demand I have sex with you—"

"I never demanded. Exactly."

"Well you presented a pretty irresistible argument."

"What if I get too loud and pushy?"

"Won't happen." John kissed me again, then said. "You're still Brianne. You'll always be Brianne. You're changing, but you're still and always Brianne."

Later that night, early morning really, we lay in John's bed, looking at the ceiling, looking at each other, talking.

"Why was it so hard to get together?" I asked.

"I don't know."John said. "I'm a little rusty in the love business. Anyway, I enjoy a challenge. I'm not complaining."

"We got what we wanted so what difference does it make how we got it. Is that it?"

"Sure. That sounds okay."

"And it doesn't matter that we didn't even know we wanted until we almost lost it?"

"Correction. You didn't know what you wanted. I knew all along what I wanted."

"Oh yeah?" I challenged. "Then why didn't you just grab it? It would have saved us an awful lot of time and miscommunication and loneliness."

"Yeah. That would have worked just fine. I'm not a pirate, Brianne. I don't see something—or someone—I want and proceed to pillage, plunder or rape."

"I guess I wouldn't have liked a strong-arm approach." I admitted. "But when Wade and I broke up…"

John stroked my hair and looked me right in the eye. "What kind of man would I be if I'd swooped in for the kill when you'd just gone through so much grief?"

"Not much of a man."

"Beside." He said a sly smile creeping across his face. "I was pretty convinced you had no feelings for me. Other than contempt and scorn, that is."

"That's not fair!" I protested.

"I know, I'm just teasing. But you didn't give anything away, Brianne. I figured that even if I waited for a decent amount of time before saying something I'd still be rejected."

"Do you think our coming together was so hard because we're both so damaged?"

"No. Maybe it took some time because like all human beings we can be stupid and pathetic. But not damaged. I think both of us have a hard time believing we can be happy. Happiness smiles right at us and instead of smiling right back we turn our heads."

I rolled over and threw my arm across John's chest. It felt so good to hold him. "Maybe we won't do that any longer. Maybe we've finally learned that we can be happy."

"I damn well hope so, Brianne."

We were quiet for a time and then I said, "They say timing is everything."

"It's something. It's important."

I wondered, was our story the kind you could tell the grandchildren? Probably not, at least not until they were old enough to be embroiled in wrong-headed love affairs of their own. Miscarriage, a broken engagement, betrayal. And all the while the right person right under your nose. No, I thought. Our story was not suited for the very young. Besides, who said there would even be children, let alone grandchildren?

Suddenly, John leaned up on one arm and looked down at me. "Look, Brianne. I don't like talking about my feelings. But there's something I just have to say. This might be the last you'll ever hear me talk this way."

"Okay."

"Brianne, you're like my air. You allow me to breathe. Because of you I can breathe. You're my soul or my spirit. You're something ethereal but at the same time absolutely necessary. You're vital to me."

"Can I tell you what you are for me?"I said. "You're like my stomach. Something solid and essential and not at all ethereal."

"Your stomach?" John grimaced and fell back onto the bed. "Well, at least you didn't say your small intestine."

"Okay then." I said laughing. "My heart but not in a goopy, Valentine's Day kind of way. You're my heart for what it really is. A vital organ. The thing that works for me, the thing with weight and presence. You ground me."

"Are you saying I hold you down?"

"No. Grounding isn't repressing. You're like an anchor, something that keeps me from floating away and avoiding the real stuff of life."

"Okay." John said. "Now can we end this conversation before Hallmark offers us a writing contract?"

"Deal."

"And we'll never speak of this again?"

"Speak of what?"

John pulled me onto him. That's one of the things I like about you, Trufan. It might take you some time but when you finally get something, you really get it."

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	39. Chapter 39

This is the last chapter of this story. I hope you like it. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, read, alerted, and favorited this story. You guys are awesome. Thanks so much.

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><p>Chapter Thirty-Nine:<p>

Elise was right all along. You just don't walk away from love. John stayed in Boston and gradually cut back on his even photograph business so that he could spend more time pursing his own work. Within a week he moved his personal belongings from his giant loft into my apartment. As soon as my lease was up I moved my office into the loft. There's plenty of room in each place for our accumulated possessions.

Brianne's Occasions is still going strong. I've taken on an intern, a young woman still in college. Her help has allowed me to act as John's manager. He's had a few shows already, one in New York and another in Connecticut. Sales have been strong, but the money isn't why John does what he does. And most of what he earns from this work goes into a college fund for the baby.

Yeah, John and I are expecting our first, much to our surprise. But happy surprise. I never thought after the miscarriage I would want a child but now I want nothing more than one with John. We are excited about the baby and our family which now includes a ninety-pound, very messy black lab named James.

John and I spend days and nights together, working, sleeping, eating, arguing, laughing, being in love and loving each other. Marriage? We're in no rush to tie the knot. We're entirely committed to each other; we'll make our union legal someday. The word elopement has been spoken and I think it's a good one. Maybe we'll get married in Ireland. Both John and I have always wanted to go there. I'll be sure to send my parents a postcard.

Maryse and Eve continue to thrive. They bought a building in Dorchester, made some minor repairs, and flipped the unit for a very nice sum. Joey is off to preschool and loving it. Although they never met Wade, Maryse and Eve declare that John is a million times the better man. I suspect one reason for their enthusiastic approbation is John's skill with the grill. Yes, I finally bought a propane grill and John has proved he possesses yet another valuable manly talent. I don't know how the neighbors on either side of us feel about our boisterous year-round grill fests on the roof deck but we certainly enjoy them.

My brother and his wife continue to live their hectic lives. I wish Mark would meet someone, fall in love, maybe even get married again, but I don't see any sign of that happening for a long, long time. It makes me sad. Taylor and I have gotten past most of our post-divorce awkwardness; my own troubles helped me to understand something of what Taylor has gone through. Now, at least, Taylor and I have something in common. Painful experiences that seems to have left us smarter people. For my part, I've made a conscious effort to get to know Nicholas and Ashlyn better; Taylor has been open to that.

Carrie is starting to prepare for a return to work—paying work, that is—once T.J. goes off to daycare six months from now. Job hunting is going to be logistical hell; adjusting to the life of a career woman with three young children is going to be almost as difficult. But she'll make it work. I have a lot of confidence in my friends.

John, it turns out, is quite handy with a hammer. He and Ted spend one afternoon a month working away on the old Victorian. Afterward, while the men sit in front of the TV, grunt, eat pretzels, drink beer and probably scratch, Carrie and I sit in the kitchen and chat. This part of our life isn't exactly glamorous but it is entirely wonderful.

I can't resist reporting that Kristen finally gave up her quest for a child. I'm not sure why exactly. Rumor has it that she was turned down by every legitimate adoption agency as "unfit", but I suspect that particular rumor was started by one of her many enemies. Like the twenty-something DAR member whose boyfriend Kristen dramatically stole while the entire guest list of a black-tie fundraiser watched in titillated embarrassment.

I don't know who Kristen feels about losing the fight for a child, but I have no doubt that no matter how many enemies she makes, she'll survive to fight another battle another day. I just won't' be there to witness hr triumphs or failures.

Jamie and Randy are getting ready for the birth of their child. Both are so happy. Jamie is due in a few short months and they are getting the nursery and everything ready for their little boy to make his arrival.

And Elise? My dearest friend is still blissfully happy. Well, as blissful happy as it's in her to be. She and Chris are weathering his divorce and all the emotional horrors that go along with the legal proceedings, but they're together, finally, and that's all that seems to matter to them.

Of course, they get on each other's nerves and fight over the things every couple fights over. "It took me about a month." Elise told me once. "Before I remembered in full-blown detail all the things about Chris that drive me crazy. Brianne, I swear I want to kill him at least once every three days. But isn't it fantastic that now I actually have the opportunity! I mean he's right there next to me in bed. I can reach right over and strangle him. I am a very lucky woman."

I hope she is. I like Chris, really, but I still harbor, maybe unfairly, a small doubt about his character. I suppose he'll have to prove to us that he's a good man. He did give Elise a lovely antique engagement ring as a token of his renewed devotion. That's a start. Did I mention that Elise is now always on time?

Wade Barrett. Well, Wade got married not quite six months after we broke up. I hear his wife's is very sweet, very blonde, and currently very pregnant. She's only twenty-one. She is not wearing the three-carat emerald cute diamond ring that once was mine, but she is living with Wade in the apartment I once thought would be mine.

Which is fine because the life I'm living now is my own. Totally and completely my own real life and John is an integral part of that, as I'm an integral part of his own real life.

The small reunion party I arranged for Mrs. King was a success. Occasionally, Mrs. King sends me a handwritten note on her personalized stationery. The note always ends with the same phrase: "Carpe diem, my dear Brianne. Carpe Diem."

I think sometimes Mrs. King's lost daughter. I think a lot of my own lost child and the one I was carrying now.

One last note. Those awful nightmares, the ones about not being able to speak, about choking, about not being able to see, are becoming just nasty memories. Someday, I hope, I'll be free of them entirely, but I suppose they still have a few lessons to teach me before they retire.

So, that's it. That's my story, so far. Life, as you know, is deliciously uncertain.

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